


Seeing Red

by Chronicbane



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Eventual Reader Gang Leader, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gang leader you, Gender Neutral, Hurt/Comfort, I Already know how its going to end I just gotta get there, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, My First Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revenge, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, Smut in chapter 15, Spoilers? what spoilers hurry up and finish the in game story y'all, Tags Are Fun, Tags Are Hard, There's A Tag For That, lol, we get to the smut when we get to the smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 98,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronicbane/pseuds/Chronicbane
Summary: Our Main Character, You the reader, had some unfortunate events crash through the ribbon that was their happy and seemingly normal life. And you're afraid to admit what that tare has been turning you into ever since. When you think you had an idea of what you wanted your new life to be, some hidden feelings of rage that sunk its teeth into the flesh of your soul only seemed to tighten the more you tried to return to normalcy. It's not all crazy of course, there is the slightest bit of calm in this storm of yours, having the same sad eyes as you, it happens to have a name too, and a sarcastic attitude to boot.





	1. Trying To Look Directly Into It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> You must have been up in the mountains for weeks sheepishly scurrying about, too scared to go further south. Your guilt kept you on a straight and narrow, seeking to punish yourself in some twisted way. Surviving on the minimum, only eating when it was absolutely necessary in your primal hindsight's point of view or to avoid letting resources go to waste.  
>   
> After all, how could you ever be forgiven for the things you had done?  
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

The camp was quiet, busy mostly, having fled once again for safer pastures everyone was busy making the new area their home.

Working all day to keep your mind from causing more problems, you were unfortunately out of chores by sundown, being relieved by lady Grimshaw to take the rest of the evening to yourself.

You tried to quell your mind with anything that would hold your attention. However, the hat you recognized all too well taunted you; snaring you into worry.

Resting on Arthur's wardrobe chest, you fidget anxiously with his worn and bullet-riddled hat of one too many close calls, letting your hands pinch along the dusty crevasses.

Each day it became harder to hold your tongue about how Dutch had begun using Arthur as more of a workhorse than a fellow friend. Your eyes can't help the glare you gave the man from across camp.

Something needed to change before something broke, be that Arthur's horse, or worse. You knew you couldn't keep Arthur from having to leave every day; you tried to comfort yourself with how he would always return.

Yet, the way he would be gone for days at a time, running on nothing but the few resources you asked him to take with him, you feared the man would grow too tired, and make mistakes that would dash him from the stones for good.

Trying to hold the unease that devoured your gut, you turn desperate for anything to keep your attention. All you could do was wait; you had no idea where Arthur could be if he were still even alive and not rotting away in a ditch somewhere.

Gently, as if it could break, you set down Arthur's hat before making your way towards night watch, hoping someone would want to be relieved and to full-fill your impatience.

Taking up one of the rifles lined up against the crate you give it a once-over, checking the condition of what you would be working with.

Entering the general area of the perimeter, you start scanning for any sign of movement, but mostly for any indication of Arthur, if you're honest with yourself.

You spot Javier turning around to give you an acknowledging nod.

“Gray, did something happen?” He asks in a hushed tone.

“I was lookin’ to take over for ya is all.” You respond thickly.

“Well, considering I just got here, I don't need a relief,” he retorts, leading both of you into a lull of exchange.

“Then, could I keep you company at least?” you hesitantly suggest while moving closer alongside the man.

To which he pauses, parting his lips a moment for a protest before releasing a breath of defeat.

“Look, you've been real dogged about this lately, what's into you?”

“Not a thing, Javier, only looking to support the family where I can.”

“When did we become family?” He asks almost accusatory, “Besides, why don't you go ask someone else, maybe someone who's been on watch longer than a few short breaths.” his words seemingly buck at you to get away.

You falter in your cause a moment, gripping the rifle an edge tighter while searching for your rebuttal.

An exasperated sigh rushes from his nose, “well if you aren't going to let it go,” tossing the rifle over his shoulder and brushing past towards camp he adds, “see if I care.”

You figured anyone would be delighted to be relieved from guard duty. His point however rung clear, not clear enough to distract you from your goals, however. You could feel eyes on the back of your head from the camp behind you. Yes, it made you uneasy, but only if you weren't already anxious for a certain someone's return.

Releasing your tension in a huff, you turn to the dark wall of woods. The trees were ink black, acting as a curtain between the clearing that was illuminated by the moonlight and the camp which was warm, yet dimly lit, with that fiery glow.

Almost giving you that prowling feeling in your chest as you watch eagerly beyond. Every breath from the wind against the trees has your eyes scanning and identifying, and when you can't find your answer, you take up chewing on the side of your lip.

     You were anxious. Every moment of waiting spun a train of thought deeper into something more toxic and sweat riddled, it was turning minutes into hours. Not knowing if you would be waiting weeks or until the end of time was killing you, with no way of knowing you were beginning to ache with that uncomfortable lump in your throat.

     The boisterous atmosphere from the camp behind you drifts into nothing, your ears more keen on the snaps made by tree branches in the wind. Wishful thinking leaving you on the edge of your seat with even the faintest of noises from the wilderness in it's resting state.

     You were searching for any sign, mostly for that clumsy paint Arthur kept around. The man claimed the animal to be a reliable horse; you knew it was because he was under a spell for the mare. You found the horse was more trouble than it was worth, and the rare occasions that you got to watch the two work; clumsy was the understatement.

You needed two hands to count the number of times you watched Arthur lift his face out of the mud with a thrashing and very sorry excuse for a horse behind him on the other side of a fence. The worst part is that the fence was in a very flat and open field.

With your anxiety so high you had mixed feelings at that moment, hoping on the slimmest of chances that the half-baked mare would take care of Arthur for once. Rather than Arthur needing to pick up the slack for not just one fool, but two.

     Your eyes ache at the intensity of the full moon beaming overhead, willing yourself to think about the last time you had a moment to admire what the sky had to offer.

Short from a handful, your mind brings memories to your attention, vision blurring out as you are swiftly taken away by them.

 

_You must have been up in the mountains for weeks sheepishly scurrying about, too scared to go further south. Your guilt kept you on a straight and narrow, seeking to punish yourself in some twisted way. Surviving on the minimum, only eating when it was absolutely necessary in your primal hindsight's point of view or to avoid letting resources go to waste._

_After all, how could you ever be forgiven for the things you had done?_

_Moving from location to location, on the run from wolves or, well, wolves with guns. You stumble across an O'driscoll camp, you weren't positive about what they were doing, but you knew one thing was for sure, you wanted nothing to do with it._

_However, through the binoculars, you could see some good finds. Finds that would keep you from dying harrowing deaths. You camped out not far from the gang’s hideout, mentally documenting patrols and making a note of where the goods had been stashed._

_The line between punishing yourself and seething revenge got a bit blurry on that mountain. Being too deprived of pretty much every need in the book for weeks did you in pretty bad. To say you were thinking with clarity would have been a joke._

_On the afternoon you planned to infiltrate the hideout and steal some supplies from the O'Driscoll's or induce some much-needed pain on them otherwise, you thankfully had the sense to wait while you watched a group come riding in on the far side of the ravine._

_What you intended to do that day you still haven't a clue. However, when you saw what you assumed to be another gang quietly set up position around the camp, your gut told you that you needed to get in on it too. Whatever it was that was about to happen you wanted to be there for it._

_Whether your gut feeling was charmed by the idea of revenge or survival, you were sent running down that snow crusted mountain at the crack of the first shot. You didn't take any time to form a plan, you had one thing on your mind, and your rationality was blinded by it._

_The valley was stuffed and spilling with the gunfire that echoed loudly against the towering rocks that watched, the occasional call out from either side could have been easily overlooked if one wasn't listening for it._

_You had taken cover behind the closest building, putting you just south of the fight, all the patrols you had been watching for the past few days had moved from the woods and into the commotion._

_With only a knife on you, you knew you would have to get in close and unnoticed. Should have been easy enough, considering the gang war happening just nearby, some sorry O'driscoll was bound to have their back turned._

_All you could comprehend was the desire to kill running thick under your skin. You couldn't tell if the shaking was from the cold or the anticipation, and you weren't in the clear mind to stop and think about it._

_With your eyes set on a coward, scarcely lifting his shivering body from the mud to look over the crate he hid behind, your blood boiled impossibly hotter._

_How could you have known? You asked yourself briefly, only spurring your hate higher._

_Surprisingly you had the sense in mind to approach quietly, despite the loud cracks and groans of dying men around you._

     You were crouched _low, your dagger felt heavy in hand, almost as if it were just as eager._

_Your victim made the mistake of locking eyes with you, his confusion being taken advantage of as you pounced._

     And driving _the dagger hard into the center of his chest._

_The man offered a couple strangled breaths before gargling in a desperate need to gain air through the blood engulfing him. His body lurched from yours pushing on you to escape; his efforts were fruitless._

_Never once did your eyes leave his, watching the thoughts that raced quietly through his reddened orbs._

_Disbelief, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and few men ever reached Acceptance in their last few breaths._

_Grief; it was something you were very familiar with._

_The rage that blinded and consumed you seemed to thin slightly with the man’s death, but only for a brief moment before your eyes found the next target, spurring your hate hotter once more._

_The rage had you like a trap that tightened the more you tried to separate yourself from it, turning that burning in your cheeks and chest into something you couldn't recognize, running like fuel that you eagerly ate up. With your adrenaline heightened, you ran with it letting it sweep you away as it bounded across the battle._

_The next man with his back to you and a green scarf, you snarled out your anger as you drove your edge into the base of the man's neck. The body seemed to offer the faintest of resistance, with his arm shooting up and his spine springing away from you the pistol in his hand shot out wildly. Unintentionally and Startled._

_The commotion had another O'driscoll catching you with their attention. The man's confusion was short before he recognized the threat you carried._

_You jumped to hide behind the man you were quick to kill, picking up the pistol from the ground before throwing the corpse's momentum towards the man with a rifle pointed in your direction._

_Luckily that did the trick, giving you enough time to get close and execute the man who looked to be trying to do the same._

_The fact you never hesitated when you dragged that hammer back and pulled the trigger, was enough to bring you subconscious a moment of pause. You were lost to yourself, weren't you? What have you done?_

_With the stinging in the palm of your hand, you had a brief moment to sweat through your nerves before the next crack of a gunshot had you startled._

_Looking around, you dive into the building you were hiding behind just moments ago. Closing the door behind you with a desperate and anxious sizzling inside that made you swallow hard. Your consciousness was coming back to you at the worst of times._

_Internally you debated with yourself, of course, you have no remorse for these bastards, after everything they did, death was getting them off easy. No matter what you pacified yourself with, something still frightened you, and you never wanted to acknowledge the fact that the agony they caused you was changing you in some way._

_Peeking through the withered and rotten boards around the building your eyes can see the faintest of movement. Black clothes and shuffling about to and from cover. You had to sit there and refocus yourself for a moment, trying to remember what it was you were doing there in the first place._

_Lifting your hands to your face for some unconscious form of stress, you have to pause and examine the blood along your knife. Flinching at the sight, you try and wipe it off as best as you could before letting the idea come back and mess you up again._

_Stowing the knife away to it's sheath at your hip, you feel the much heavier pistol aimlessly waiting for it's next direction. You found firearms to be clunky, loud, and unpredictable; if your anxieties had anything to say._

_Avoiding them for the most part, you didn't work with them when you had the chance. Even so with the cracks piercing your ears just outside the feeble shelter you hesitated to take it with you. Contemplating throwing the cold metal to the ground, your eyes lift and begin to trail around the room._

_Drawn mostly to the large bin with the word, “Dynamite” splashed white across the top, you can’t resist the urge to take a peek inside. As you do, the brick red sticks give your eyes something awe over._

_As you reach your hand in ever so carefully, not entirely sure of how the things worked having only heard about them in passing, the wonder in your head rung too loud to listen to the commotion dying off outside._

_When it grew quiet, as things always did, your ears twitched at the voices talking just outside, no more gunshots, only plans between men it seemed to be. Your nerves jumped at the realization, a nervous lump swelling violently in your throat while you close the box._

_Your shoulders were taut before you were hunched over and beelining to the door you came in from. You could make out the sound of footsteps in the snow approaching the far side of the room which made your heart squeeze dramatically._

_Trying your damnedest to see through the cracks to clear your escape, the rushing sensation your anxious body spurred into you had made you clumsy. Forgetting to breathe even, your hand tries to push on the door, it seemed the snow had it packed in, you would have to pull._

_And so with all that anxiety blinding your clear thinking, you fought with it. Continuing to push and trying to see how far you could pry the door open to squeeze your tired and jumpy body through._

_The terrifying sound of the door opening slowly on the far side of the seemingly much smaller room sends you into a panic — desperation taking over as you begin to bash the door with your shoulder. Your ears twitched, and your jaw clenches at the feeling of eyes falling on you, stealing what little breath you had._

_“Hey, hold it right there!” Some gravelly voice calls after you._

_Turning your shoulders to look and your arm extending that pistol you picked up earlier, your eyes barely identify the intruder before you pull back the hammer._

_The man in blue is faster than you, quick to draw; you don't have time between trying to force open the door and keeping your head down to catch the man in your sights._

_Squeezing your body through the small section that gives under your persistence before blindly firing towards your pursuers direction._

_The crack rips through your ears, sending that anxiety up into your throat again. A nauseous feeling takes you before you fall into the snow elbow first._

_Quick to drag yourself out of the tight space your eyes are searching for the escape._

_Your ears perked at a voice coming from inside,_

_“Dutch! We got a runner!”_

_Somewhere distant you hear another voice, something inaudible but in laughing tone._

_The snow soaking through your gloves bites at your fingers as you stumble to your feet. Your body feeling rushed by your minds commands._

_Being chased as you hightail it to the trees, tense is the understatement — the choking sensation in the back of your throat swelling and almost leaking with strings of hysterical sobbing._

_The blood rushing past your ears have you twisting around to look at the scene behind you, that same figure in blue is wasting no time catching up._

_Seeing as much has your nerves jumping impossibly harder, a tight squeeze in your heart to boot._

_“You best stop right there!” the voice from before shouts after you._

_Swallowing hard, you briefly debate your options. Running sounded like the better chance if your fear had anything to say._

_Opening your mouth to speak is cut short at how quickly the man behind you was covering ground._

_With your windpipes screaming, trying to keep that hard-to-come-by oxygen circulating and supplying the rest of your tired and aching body._

_Practically dragging yourself through the heavy snow, you hit a numerous amount of obstacles. Scaling fallen logs, while tree branches knocked accidentally cause more snow to envelop over you, thankfully with your adrenaline so high, you couldn't feel the biting cold that slapped you across the face._

_As your legs began to burn, trudging through the snow out of sheer panic was no longer enough. You pushed forward, more laborious, not even bothering to turn around anymore._

_Lifting your legs to scale another fallen log, your throat closes tight as a result of your boot catching a branch. Your momentum and weight were enough to snap out of it's hold, however, not soon enough to keep you from being thrown into the ground._

_Scurrying onto your back, you extend the heavy metal, hammer pulled back from muscle memory, just in time to see your hunters face between the iron sights._

_With your vision blurry, your lungs begin to refill, panting past cracked lips, as your eyes settle, looking down two large cylinders what felt like inches from your face, you gag at the sight._

_Hesitantly your eyes look away, glancing over the man's features before narrowing and examining further._

     Your _arm that props you up reaches back to drag yourself further away._

_“_ _After all that running you made me do,” the man's lungs are fighting just as hard to keep a breath, “I’ve got a weapon that could level your head from this distance,-, yet you still think about running away?  I ain't-a patient man.” the man snarls through clenched teeth, that hot air seeping out in rushed clouds._

_Anger suddenly rises from your gut, “If you were gonna kill me - you'd done it by now, you fool.” you bite back, feeling a new level of defensiveness._

_“You're pretty cheeky for someone with a death bringer at their doorstep.” He gestures to his sawed-off shotgun the motion grabs your eyes briefly before you stare hard back into his eyes._

_Your jaw clenches, “I could say the same for you.”_

_Watching his eyes trail from yours to your pistol, only a toothy grin greets you as his gaze returns sending a nervous chill down your spine. Your self-consciousness having snapped into control again keeps you from shuddering away and flinching at the threats. Or was it your anger?_

_“Don't lie to me now, you're a poor shot, couldn't hit me where I stood back in that building,” he says cooly, a tone of humor laced within._

_He wasn't wrong, but again, he doesn't know that he's right, “I saw your aim there too, gunslinger,” you retort, “you could have killed me then too, yet here you stand, spitting these empty threats.”_

_“You don't know me from a hole in the ground, what makes you think I won't?”_

_“I should be asking you that.”_

_“Alright, I've had enough of this, get your smart ass up.”_

_“Not until you lower your gun.”_

_“Why would I shoot you then and not now? You planning on doing something stupid?”_

_Pausing a moment to think about what the question included, “Probably.”_

_“Then no. Get. Your. Ass. Up. I won't ask again.”_

_You part your lips a moment to offer yet another retort; the man raises his brows as if itching to hear what you had to say just to blow your head off after._

_Sheepishly offering the pistol grip towards him, you creep your arm forward as if it would save you if he did decide to pull that trigger._

_Roughly snatching the pistol from you, he juts out the cylinder, looking at how many shots you had left._

_Some pride in you snickers at the man's sudden realization. Another part sweats nervously. You were counting the number of rounds you put out. You had no shots left._

_Watching quietly with some sort of enchanted dizziness as the man angrily threw the empty gun into the snow then grabbing you by the arm a tad easier than you were expecting._

And to this day you don't know if you would have pulled that trigger on him even if you did have one final shot. Some days you wonder if you should thank the man, other days, you feel sorry for him. To be the man responsible for prolonging your existence - what a heavyweight it seemed.

There seemed to be a lot of pressure on you to prove yourself, never wanting to make the wrong move or you'd have to witness the lashing others would give to Arthur as a result.

That is if they didn't try and kill you first. You were hesitant to believe that the gang members weren't below such measures, but you've been burned before as well.

You know certain members had high amounts of distrust towards you, rightfully so, you didn't hold it against them. But instead, their actions that followed only then did you apply judgment.

Being taken by your mind, the concept and awareness of time had escaped you. Not entirely sure when the camp atmosphere started dying down, and most of everyone had begun going to sleep.

Just as you were starting to doubt Arthur's return for yet another day, you have to do a double take on the thumping you hear against the mud just beyond into the shrubs.

Pushing your selfish intentions aside you slowly raise your rifle, a new focus evolving while you watched for movement.

The pattern of the footprints sounded as if a horse could be approaching, but, what horse moved so sluggishly and sporadic?

The silhouette of something substantial rocking back and forth has you sucking in a sharp breath of air before you open your mouth.

“You there!” You snarl, “Not another step or this bullet ruins your skull.”

Not that you could tell head from toe on the trespasser, however, you found bark-and-no-bite worked well for you in the past.

The movement continued for a second before stopping lazily. A groan could be heard from the mysterious being.

Your ears perked, your rifle still raised at the ready while you leaned on needing more to quell your unhealthy curiosity.

Sliding out of what you then assumed to be a saddle the individual melts down into the dark space in front of you. A wheezing cough oozes from the stranger.

“...It's me, Arthur.”

Your breath catches in your throat while you unconsciously lower your rifle.

“Morgan?”

“Yes, you damn fool.” he spits out, not anything angry, but you can feel his discomfort without needing to see his face.

Wasting no time, you abandon the rifle, reaching out blindly to the man. Feeling some sour combination of slimy and gritty arms droop around yours, you accept the weight completely, not minding how heavy he really was.

“Morgan, h- what happened to you?” Managing to just keep your voice from trembling, you turn your head back to camp with worry sitting heavy in your nerves. “Can we get some help over here?!” You shout, something profound from within your chest.

“Was, a cougar.” The beaten voice speaks up along your shoulder — breath hissing in your ear as you take his arm around your shoulders.

“Cougar or a Panther?”

A groan follows, “does it matter?”

You're too caught up in trying to examine what's left of the man to respond to his retort. When no one from camp is quick to acknowledge your call for help, you shout out again, “Arthur needs help!”

A moan of discomfort is at your ear, spurring you to turn your full attention to what the man needed.

“What do you need, Arthur, how bad is it?”

“You could calm down for one,” he stumbles slightly, grabbing the reins from his horse while he leans on you, making way to the center of camp. “Ain't that bad.”

You have half a mind to let him walk the rest of the way on his own. “So you say, look at you, you sorry man.” You couldn't see much with how dark it was, but you knew his trusting of weight on you spoke volumes.

The limp from his pace catches your attention,

“What happened to your leg?” You ask, the loud gasp from your lungs sneaking out unexpectedly.

The question has the man stopping, and with the campfire just nearby you can make out his aggravated expression, you don't need him to speak to know your bombardment was unwanted at that moment.

“Work on your bedside manner, Gray. You're kicking up a fuss.” He grounds out pointedly.

“Arthur!” Dutch had appeared at some point, “There you are son, what in God's name did you get up to?” The older gentleman asks, taking the reins of the horse and handing the horse off to someone else. There always happened to be someone else.

“Oh, you know me, Dutch. Nothin’ but the usual.” Arthur grumbles

Coming up along Arthur's side to take the injured man onto his shoulders, Dutch looks over at you, ushering you away with the nod of his head.

You ignore it, refusing to abandon your task on getting Arthur to his bed until you can't anymore as that obnoxious Van der Linde opens his mouth.

“Gray, I think we got it from here, you can return to what you were doing before being, rudely interrupted, by this one here.” A tone you can't quite place is laced within his words.

You hesitate, trying to see how long you can go without being forced. And before long it seems everyone was waiting for you to leave out of the way.

Not understanding why they wanted you away so badly had some blip of confusion that led to anger broiling in your chest.

Handing off Arthur to the others, you let him slip away under their care. Knowing there wasn't a shred of weight to your desires that could change someone's mind. The tightening in your hands made the rest of your body tense.

Turning away back to what you already knew as your doing, you struggle to stop the strands of curses coming into your mind.

“Dammit, you fool, if only you had been patient enough,” you mutter to yourself, while searching for the rifle you cared little for, "you wouldn't have gotten this hand.” whether time flew by fast or you were lucky, you eventually found the rifle, the slightest shimmer of iron reflection guides you towards progress.

You take one last look back at the man who sat dirtied and mauled, before spending the rest of the night angrily glaring into the dark curtains of trees.

This time however you felt a real sense of defensiveness towards the world outside. In other words, you sought to protect. The feeling was something deep-seated.

Tomorrow and the days after will be different.


	2. Conman's Dominoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I tell you! You two are worse than children,” she adds as she storms off to wreak havoc on whatever soul was deserving of it next.  
> A lull is exchanged between the two of you, both equally perturbed by the woman’s iron fist. And before thoughts about your incompetence can eat away at your heart, Arthur speaks up,
> 
> “We could be, Micha, so there's that.”
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

     Your consciousness having turned off what seemed only to be a few minutes ago registers some dull prodding against your shoulder. Feeling far too comfortable to mind it any, your eyes roll over, letting that intoxicating dizziness overtake you again.

     The prodding happens again, pressing slowly into the meaty junction between your shoulders and neck before shaking your frame softly.

     Having realized this interruption as some external source, your consciousness snaps to, with the source’s persistence jolting you awake like a slap of cold water to the face.

    You're soon lurching up with a startled intake for air. Peaking open an eye, struggling with sleep weighing so heavily on them and a light crispy texture sealing them together.

     As if rebooting, you scarcely make out bedding which you assume your head sought comfort on. Rubbing your eyes with your warm hands, you blink out the remaining blurry film before wiping the drool that had found its way across the side of your face.

     The sensation that woke you pats your shoulder, encouraging your wake up time to speed up a bit faster to engage.

     “Ain't you a sight.”

     The voice hoarse and quiet, tickles your ears, bringing a  smile to your face unconsciously.

     Lifting your eyes to the hand against you, you follow it to its owner.

     While ignoring the aching in your knees from sitting on the grass however long you were out for. Processing what you see has you jumping up from the ground.

     A gravelly chuckle escapes the bedridden man with a cough to accompany.

     This has you leaning back in, kneeling on the ground, some breed of worry switching on inside your chest.

     “How are you feeling, Arthur?” You ask quietly after the man's coughing fit subsides.

     He waves a hand between the both of you, “I’m fine when you gonna quit your fretting?” He asks before attempting to sit up.

     You rise to your feet, eagerly offering any assistance he would willingly take.

     “You're a mess, Arthur,-”

     “I also ain't, John,” He retorts. “Just needed some shut-eye, and, a bowl or two of, well,” he gestures across camp to the stew pot that had gone cold.

     The two of you look on with a comfortable silence, watching as the camp begins to stir awake from their late night.

     “You know what?” Arthur speaks up, drawing your attention back to his dirtied yet seemingly rejuvenated features. “Yeah, I know now, you remind me of them dogs that hang around town.”

     The off the wall change in the subject have you blinking once, twice, before tilting your head and opening your mouth.

     “What?” The man begins to laugh between your response, “What's that supposed to mean?”

     “Always so eager to welcome me back to camp,”

     Heat rises to your face at the bluntness of his comparison.

     “Anyone would!” you add, only a tad defensive.

     “Sure, how many you know that would drool on my cot, with me in it?”

     “I wasn't drooling!” You bark back, the brow raised at you has your resolve crumbling, “at least, not intentionally. Besides, I'm quite positive, Uncle, drunk enough, would happily drool on your cot.”

     “Ah, yes of course,” standing up slowly from his bed with many pops from his joints and a groan to accompany them. “That just means you ain't the only dog here, isn't that right, Rover?”

     Before you can get your feathers ruffled up about being referred to as a dog, he's already offering you that teasing smile of his, and gingerly making his way over to his grooming stand.

     Watching as he nitpicks his appearance, your eyes begin to trail for details the dark hid from you the night before.

     His clothes were caked in mud that had hardened over time, and what wasn't muddied was layered with dried blood. Your eyes meet his in the small mirror that sat upon his grooming stand, the smirk that comes to your lips holds back a witty remark just eager to jump out.

     “Hell, Arthur, ain't _you_ a sight.”

     “Yeaah, ain't my best lighting.” His words drag as he speaks.

     “Ain't your best anything neither.”

     A snort is his response, shaking his head while he works on rinsing the grime off his face,

     “That's for certain, anyway, don't you got better things to be doin’ than sittin’ here making a pest of yourself?” his tone playful as he looks back at you pointedly with a cloth around his unruly face coat.

     “I suppose,” your eyes drift about the camp looking for anything, in particular, you could be putting effort into. In the far corner, you find a very strange looking horse.

     How unusual it was to see a horse laying down, it usually meant the horse was relaxed enough to indulge in some horizontal sleeping. This one however, had its legs splayed out, and head tossed away just enough to keep the lead hitched at the post with little slack.

     You didn't get a good look at it last night, seemed taller than that clumsy paint you usually saw in Arthur's hands.

     “Is that a new horse, Arthur?” You ask while extending a finger towards the animal's direction.

     Arthur’s face seems to droop at the topic, a slight frown on his features as he silently looks upon the horse with you.

     “Yeah, Mahina didn't make it,” he adds quietly, still soaking his beard with the rag. You gathered the sense he was using it to hold his composure. You knew Arthur was attached to the creatures he invested time into, doubly so a treasured horse of more than a handful of adventures.

     Walking up alongside him you hesitantly offer a comforting hand to his back, rubbing and patting in a supportive manner.

     “I’m positive you did everything you could for her, she’s fortunate to have had you.”

     Arthur closes his eyes as he nods in agreement. A moment passes before he’s lifting his eyes to watch his new companion with you.

     “With the rain, the mountains were slicker than usual, shoulda known better on my part, unfortunately, upon our landing, I was lodged under her for a while, really screwed up my ankle between her and a rock.” he gestures to his slack leg, gingerly flexing his foot. “Then, during the time I was trying to gather myself and get unstuck, I think I just got unfortunate timing sometimes, happened to drop right in on a cougar who was prowling for some dinner, which, sat very heavily on top of me.”

     The two of you chuckle at this unfortunate mockery.

     “Was it a cougar or a panther?” you ask.

     To which Arthur turns his pointed gaze back at you, curious himself it seemed, “Why is that the part of my explanations that you fancy so much?”

     “I don’t know,” you shrug, “They’re two different cats, I need to know these sorta things,” you respond with a bashful grin dancing on your lips as you pull your arms back into you, trying to hide your hands.

     Arthur offers a squinted gaze, silently watching you, you believed he had been thinking it over again, wondering the same question you had.

     “Cougar. It was a cougar.”

     “You sure?”

     “Yes, Grey, I’m sure.” Arthur begins to prepare to shave his beard as he watches you in the corner of his eye, your silence forms a tight grin on his face as he realizes you're only going to continue your teasing.

     The two of you are interrupted when Dutch trumpets into the conversation, roaring above both of you.

     “Arthur! My boy! Good to see you didn't croak in your sleep,” Dutch comes around patting with some force on Arthur’s spine. “You’ve missed a lot while you were away on your, say, what would you call that experience that keeps you away from us so much, Arthur?”

     Arthur stands up a bit straighter the clapping on his spine doesn't seem to bother him that much, but some discomfort was evident, or maybe it was just something you thought you saw.

     “...Good morning to you too, Dutch,” Arthur offers you a knowing glance before he gives his full attention to the man who always demanded it.

     You took your leave, unbothered by the interruption, after all, Dutch didn't have you killed right on the spot and allowed you into his circle of misfits, so that has to count for something. You looked to busy yourself elsewhere before burning more daylight.

     Upon your approach, you could only make out a few details, mud-coated majority of the poor animal. Cautiously you approach its head, its eyes closed, you kneel to graze its cheekbone gently.

     You watch as the large eye opens; almost immediately the head is shooting up from the ground, heaving its body, so its legs tucked under itself. Reminded you very much of yourself just a moment ago.

     Offering soothing coos to the horse, encouraging a more calm engagement, you give what space you think it needs.

     It seems the horse is too exhausted to stand, or perhaps something else was wrong? A leg injury maybe?

     Slowly reaching out to the bridge of its nose, offering shallow strokes, and as the horse relaxes you untie the hitch. Taking it slow you sit there unmoving for a moment, examining only what the dried mud allowed you to see.

     Cautiously standing up, you leave the horse ground tied, letting the weak creature get comfortable while you moved towards the paddock area for the horses. Searching for a bucket of water and a rag you figure you could bring some hay over too, who knows when the last time the horse had eaten anything.

     After getting situated you approach the horse again, hailing its attention before touching it and watching patiently as the horse was still too tired to stand. You offer the horse something sweet, sugar cubes; alarmingly the horse seemed very uninterested. Deciding to give it some more time you begin to work at de-griming its coat.

     Not sure what to expect, you were only hoping to get the inky crust that clung to its fur off and get the creature looking more lively.

     You spend an hour or so at this, patiently rinsing and soaking starting from the shoulder, and working your way out whichever way the horse seemed most comfortable with. You didn't mind the time; it was rather relaxing actually. Compared to what you could be doing, you found the task to be somewhat beneficial.

     More details are revealed to you the more you worked; unsurprisingly, the horse was a stallion. With the way, the horse reacted to your pressure from before you could understand the words you heard before a bit better.

     Arthur was always telling you, “ _Tell a gelding, ask a stallion, and discuss it with a Mare._ ” Slowly you were learning your way about that saying with your own experiences.

     Under all that muck you were slowly soaking out of the coat, you could see the light! A white roan coat possibly? The more you uncovered, the more you ended up rushing, eager to find out the result.

     At some point, Arthur had approached both of you with a new bucket of water and a rag himself.

     “Well, would you look at that,” Arthur kneels next to you, slowly sliding a hand across the grey coat.

     “Indeed, a horse was under all this crud, I wouldn’t have believed it.” you jest, in return Arthur offers a soothing laugh, careful of the tone of his voice around the horse it seemed.

     “He’s a tough one too, was lucky to stumble upon him, albeit, he probably didn't know what was on his back for the first hour we spent high tailing it anywhere but.”

     “That’s right, how _did_ you get so mangled?” You ask sitting up a moment, indulging in that swelling within your chest that begun every time the man had time to talk to you. The feeling had you giddy.

     “Well,” he drags before joining you with the uncovering work, “it wasn’t no fun, I’ll tell you that much.”

     “I Imagine so.”

     “Was dark, raining, couldn't see a damn thing, and the fall had busted my lantern, learned about that while I was still trapped under poor Mahina.”

     “And I’m assuming that...cougar you somehow managed to identify in the dark, was willing to let you off the hook?” you ask in a teasing manner.

     “Hmph, Wish it woulda, that thing - I musta startled it when it came to investigating the body, it jumped at me in a desperate way, its claws wrapped around me something fierce.” Your eyes trail over the tended wounds as he speaks, looking at the still mending skin as it bleeds through his clean new clothes and bandages. “Managed to fend it off with my knife, lucky that wasn't trapped under the poor girl too.” he adds with a sigh.

     “Maybe you’ll start having to carry a knife on both sides of ya.” you mention half serious.

     A cough leaves his throat, followed by a low laugh, “Oh no, no no, I ain't turning into you or Javier. I hear the way you two gloat and relish over your knives.”

     A laugh that rumbles from your core shoots from your throat, your laughter seemed to be contagious to poor Arthur, who seemed to have some trouble restricting his movement to save his wounds.

     You perk up, “I bet you, your gun was probably trapped under there with the rest of your ‘oh so reliable equipment’ too, huh?” he waves his hand at you dismissively, already knowing where you were going with it, “Also, seems to be, that knife you think so little of did by you pretty good.”

     “Was one time out of a thousand, don't stretch it.” he retorts, tone still just as playful as yours.

     The both of you have your attention drawn away quickly as the horse is lurching itself back up again, the two of you step back giving the horse some room.

     Silently you watch as Arthur soothes his companion. The expression on the man's face is solemn as he interacts with the stallion.

     Holding out some Sugarcubes that you had offered earlier, you nudge the man gently, offering a curious look to see if the horse would be interested this time around.

     And so Arthur takes up the treats, offering to the stallion an outstretched hand. And for a little while, the stallion does nothing, until, Arthur begins crumbling the cubes, this manages to catch not just yours but the horse's attention as well. The nostrils inflate slightly, air rushing out of them as the horse sniffs at the sweet smell, its muzzle soon wasting no time on lapping up the sweet crystals.

     “That’s my boy,” Arthur mollifies, giving the stallion a thorough scratching behind the ear and watching as the horse salivates across his hand.

     “Grey!”

     The loud shrill of a voice, makes you jump, ducking your head slightly as if miraculously dodging a bullet. Turning around sheepishly already anticipating the source, you’re not that surprised to see Lady Grimshaw stomping over to you, finger already at the ready as she prepares to lay down a lecture on you.

     “Tell me how everytime we get back a hard working hand we lose two at the same time?!”

     Inwardly you let out a sigh. There really was no reason for both of you to be working on Arthur’s horse when there was so much work to do around camp. While it was fun while it lasted, you hop to Grimshaw’s tune knowing that the lady wasn't being unreasonable.

     “Yes ma’am,” you reply, even if her question was more of a statement you already knew where she was going with it. Leaning down to pick up your bucket of dirty water and ringing out the cloth accompanying it.

     “I tell you! You two are worse than children,” she adds as she storms off to wreak havoc on what ever soul was deserving of it next.

     A lull is exchanged between the two of you, both equally perturbed by the woman’s iron fist. And before thoughts about your incompetence can eat away at your heart, Arthur speaks up,

     “We could be, Micha, so there's that.” Arthur mutters just loud enough for you to catch.

     His attempt to lighten the mood is welcomed by you, if your strangled grin had anything to say about it.

     You’ve known about Arthur’s resentment towards Micha for awhile now, considering how open minded Arthur was, you knew Micha was a real piece of work even without having to witness the awful slurs that spilled from the man’s mouth; as if his saliva was toxic and sour. You couldn’t help but wonder what made Micha into who he was, wondering how someone can be so closed minded and nasty towards other beings.

     Thinking on it, you’re reminded of the few unpleasant memories you had the displeasure of experiencing and suddenly, someone or something like Micha didn't seem too far fetched. You waste no valuable time on those thoughts however, more productive things were to get done.

~+~

     You spend the rest of the high sun lugging around heavy objects, and splitting wood.

     It was that annoying time of year for you, when the weather was too cold to wear just a shirt, and too hot to wear anything more. Especially while you were slinging the axe around, the heat was getting to you. You were reluctant to shed your coat, you happened to always be on the colder side when it came to body temperature and knew you would be putting it right back on as soon as the crisp air hit your arms.

     The sweat that had begun to form on your brow had finally fallen into your eyes, that stinging sensation in your eye spurred you to try and rub it out. The sweat on the back of your hand only made it worse, and the more you rubbed at your lid the dryer it became, and a cycle of discomfort began. You eventually had the sense to stop, more defeated than willing.

     Sitting upon the stump next to you, you take a breather, not really thinking about too much besides trying to find something to take your mind off the urge to itch at your eye. As you try and see past the annoying sensation, your eyes naturally fall to a figure across the camp.

     Arthur, nose deep in his journal again, sitting off the side of his cot and resting his elbows on his knees as he flipped through his work. Blurry for the most part, but you could see that he too was looking around. His eyes were not looking for anything in particular just drifting about as his mind talked to itself. His eyes found yours, he was quick to look away snapping his gaze back down into his journal, teasing the corner of a page.

     It was when he tried to sneak a glance at you again when a dopey grin bullied its way across your face.

     He looked away again, this time a struggle to keep his smile hidden while his pencil was doing the talking and writing down something you were of course very interested in seeing.

     Your curiosity was lifting you away again, you took time to organize the firewood, lifting it up over your shoulder so you could drop it off next to Pearson’s workstation on your way through. Visiting briefly with the camp butcher and exchanging pleasantries, the sailor always seemed to have a good head on his shoulders when it came to common courtesy and manners.

     Tuning your attention and making your way towards Arthur’s last known location, your eyes light up, excitement bubbling in your chest as you prepare to really get him with some intense teasing. That light in your eyes doesn't stay long however, a figure at the table reaches up to grab your attention,

     “Grey,” an older voice calls to you, “Come join me for some dominos, what say you?”

     Hosea was inviting you to be his plus one for a game, you hesitate only a moment, the temptation of whatever note Arthur had jotted down weighed heavily on your decision. You couldn't shake the inviting feeling you got from the elder. “Looks like you could use a break anyways, you've been working like a mule since this morning, I think.” Hosea’s action point rung pretty clear for you, and you took him up on the offer. “Have you, ever played before?” he asks, getting situated while you take a seat across from him.

     “Once or twice, I think.” you answer as your eyes are already picking out which tiles looked lucky.

     “You mean you dont know?” he asks, humor laced in his voice.

     “Well, I mean I’m not sure, I played yeah, did I play it well? I suppose that's a different question.” the finger around your chin seems to help your honest thoughts.

     “It’s much easier than poker, at least I think so.”

     “You’d be right about that.” you add, you take a swift moment to glance over at Arthur, it seems he was being interrupted as well. Marston was talking to him in such a way that it seemed some plan of theirs was in discussion.

     “Ah, Marston and Arthur, up to something again are they?” Hosea joins in, recognizing your focus was elsewhere.

     You watch with Hosea for a moment, you break the silence with, “I don’t know if i’d leave any sort of planning up to those two.” before the man is turning back around to begin picking up his dominos.

     Hosea responds with a chuckle, “I know what you mean, but, believe it or not, Arthur ended up okay,”

     “You raised him with Dutch right?” you ask, turning your attention to selecting your tiles.

     Hosea lays down the first double, starting the game off while responding, “For the most part, though, I do believe pain might have turned the boy too serious. Speaking of,” your ears tweak at the added statement. Placing your piece down while listening intently. “Could you, go with Arthur? I worry about the boy, he's been rather, dispirited lately.”

     Your surprise has you struggling for words, “You think I’d be able to change that?”

     “Of course,” he continues, playing a couple of dominos in the process, “I’m not blind to you two’s frequent exchanges. How much he laughs without being worried about repercussions. You know he has this,” pausing a moment to find his words, “way where he likes to play the fool, the sad, grumpy, fool. So when I see him out of this character, I take notice, it always seemed to be more honest when he wasn't the fool.”

     You think on his words a moment, trying to find moments where you could see that sad, grumpy, fool.

     The race to empty the tiles was still evenly matched, you however had other plans, that didn't involve winning top score, rather, you were more interested in the charismatic benefits.

     Lowering your voice a little you ask, “Would I even be allowed to leave camp with him, or with anyone?”.

     “I don't see why not.”

     “I suppose I worry about being shot if I showed my face outside the circle.” Nervously your index finger rocks a tile back and forth on its stand.

     “You don't gotta worry about Dutch and his… way with words. He won't admit it himself, but, he sees it too.”  

     “See’s; his way with words?”

     “Well that too I reckon, but, no, he wouldn't admit the change you instill in our serious young man, Arthur.” Hosea clarifies.

     Pondering a moment, thinking on some examples and what tile to play next, “I’m afraid I’ve only seen him serious on a few occasions.”

     “Of course, because everytime you two are around each other you’re speaking the same language, and it just tickles the both of you.”

     “I’ll have to start paying more attention, it seems.”

     Hosea opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, the motion has you snapping up in curiosity. The man seemed hesitant, or at a loss of words. You were patient though, waiting as you could see the mental debate in his head.

     “With the way Dutch and the gang is going,” he pauses, his activity on the playing field seemed to have slowed dramatically, he was looking at you intensely as he continued, “I just don't want to see him swallowed up by it.”

     Your spine chilled, the start of a cold sweat forming on your brow at the man’s words. When a founding member of a long successful gang foreshadows a downfall you had the sense in mind to pay attention to that. Taking the elder man’s words with weight perhaps a little too much.

     “Why haven't we talked more, Hosea?” you wonder aloud, leaning back to hint towards finishing the game.

     “Haven’t had much reason to I think?” you were watching the older man’s tile shelf dwindle.

     “I think I’d like to talk to you more,” you admit quietly, throwing your embarrassment aside while allowing your honesty to be bare.

     He holds up one tile, his last tile, before slowly leaning forward and placing it down, “And I believe that is game, I suspect there will be plenty of time to talk next time, assuming you’re interested in trying for another game.”

You give your best over exaggerated frown, fakeing disappointment.

     “Forgive me as a boast about my win. Arthur, that is how you dominate a game of dominos.” Hosea teases, talking mostly to the space behind you, the mention of Arthur has you turning around fast. A blush on your face feeling only slightly worried about how much of the conversation he could have heard.

     You watch as Arthur gives you an odd face, having looked at your selection of tiles, you could tell he was questioning your play method. There was a method to your madness, he didn't need to know that of course.

     He comes around to join the two of you at the table, a bowl of stew in his hand he lifts his spoon to point at you,

     “Well, I’d watch yourself around this one, Hosea, it seems you both share an interest in coning people.” he responds, humor as an underlying tone.

     “Hosea would never!” you retort, sarcasm high as you talk in your best rich-folk accent, “This kind gentleman wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

     Hosea sits up straight, joining in on your ploy, “We are wounded you would even consider the possibility of us being anything other than decent and honest individuals.” And as if in unison, both you and Hosea display an offended expression.

     Arthur rummaging through his stew has a smile on his face, but the eye roll and head shaking is what makes you laugh inside, “‘Buncha snakes is what you are.” he adds.

     This makes everyone at the table laugh, and as things are quieting down, Kieran comes up alongside Arthur, looking skittish more so than usual.

     Your attention falls to the lanky man, the uneasy he brings snares your carefree feeling and has you stuffing it away.

     “M’ sorry to interrupt, I uh, I needed to tell Mr. Morgan something.” he nervously looks between everyone at the table as if looking for permission.

     Your eyes immediately fall to Arthur, knowing you had no pull in any sort of decision in camp you didn't bother opening your mouth to offer any sort of assurance.

     Arthur turns in his seat, giving his full attention.

     “It’s O'driscoll’s, I saw em around camp.” Kieran

     Arthur sits up visibly alarmed, “Around camp?” he asks, mirroring not just yours but Hosea’s worry as well.

     “W-Well outside, the camp, I mean, around, I seen em runnin through that valley that goes down to the Dakota River.”

     “Did they say anything to you? Did they see you?”

     “N-no , at least I don't think so. I went and told dutch , I wanted to tell you about it too.”

     “Alright, you did good, and if you see anymore of ‘em tell me, alright?”

     “Yes, sir.” Kieran respectfully responds, heading away with a newfound purpose in his stride.

     You found yourself eager, a sort of eager you felt you had to keep quiet about in front of the others. The two men who shared the table with you were in their thoughts for a moment, processing what to make of the news.

     “What do you think, Hosea?” Arthur asks.

     Hosea is quiet a moment longer, tapping the wood on the table as he stares into the pile of tiles, “I think we’re fine here, from them at least. They should be the least of our worries right now.”

     His response has you feeling deflated, your shoulders lowering as disappointment washes away at that eagerness from earlier.

     “Yeaahh, I bet the news made Dutch more twitchy, than as of late.” Arthur adds.

     As a result, Hosea is standing up from his chair, “I’ll go see what I can do.” the older man says with a sigh. “In the meantime, I think you two should decide what you’ll be doing the next few days, considering, Arthur should be spending some time resting, we need someone to keep him from gallivanting into a den of hungry wolves.”

     “It was a cougar.” the younger man calls after as if defending a point as he watches Hosea leave the table.

     “Was it, though, Arthur? You did say your lantern was worthless in the dead of a stormy night.”

     He lifts his spoon to you again, pointing, “When you gonna let that go?”

     You can't help but offer a toothy grin before speaking up, “Well then, what should we do tomorrow to keep you out of trouble?”

     “You ain't babysitting me.”

     “How unfortunate, looks to me, I need to make the decision for you as well.” you review outloud, crossing your arms with a finger against your chin.

     Coming out from a laugh, he turns the conversation more realistic, “If anything, we are low on Food, we’ll have to go shopping or Hunting, take your pick from those then we’ll go make a day of it.” He smiles to you, crossing his arms and resting on the table towards you.  

     You hadn't thought that far honestly, both options sounded equally entertaining, getting out of camp, but more interestingly, Arthur seemed just as excited. You were hesitant to assume why, scared even.


	3. Doe-eyed For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And is she right?”
> 
> Your question has his expression falling flat, turning to look into your eyes with stern weighing heavily on his brow, “Have you ever tried to return to a normal life, Grey? Away from all this violence and hate to build an honest name for yourself?”
> 
>  
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

     “Grey.” A voice calls snarls even, but that's not what wakes you up.

     You feel your leg jut over like you were falling in your dream, you try and catch yourself, but you find yourself lurching up from the rollout beneath you, your muscles heavy with slumber.

     “Wake up, you really are turning into a dog with the way you're sleeping the day away,” Arthur stood above you. What a sight honestly, you could get used to seeing his face every time you woke.

     You let out a low groan, “Mr. Morgan, I think you're mixing up cats and dogs.” Your voice hoarse and cracking in your jest before rolling back over, nuzzling your face into your heavy coat.

     This earns you another kick from Arthur's boot. You offer a half-hearted growl, still too entranced by sleep to get up.

     “These are prime hunting hours, Grey,” Arthur speaks, his voice closing in has you turning over to him, he's got one knee down to really grab your eyes while he leans over you. You crack open a lid, staring at the blur that is.

     When his arm extends to your face, you're more eager to clarify your vision, the back of his callous warm hand presses against your cheek, then to your forehead.

     He gently fixes your stray hairs that had fallen out of line from your part. “What did you get up to last night? You catch Jack's cold?” His voice has lowered, so it was just you and him again.  

     You didn't know how to tell him it was nightmares that had you waking up feverish and sweating. A lump formed in your throat as a side effect of your emotional pain that you could never voice aloud. On top of not getting sleep the night before thanks to night-watch and having even worse luck falling asleep on your own, getting up this morning was a bit more difficult.

     “Let's hope not.” you mutter.

     “Want me to let you sleep in today? We can always go hunting together some other time.” He asks softly. To which you're sitting up on your elbows.

     “No no, I wanna, just, give me a second. What will I need?” You question, rubbing your face a bit, getting the crisps out of the corner of your eyes.

     “Not much, we ain't goin’ far just down the ridge here, there's plenty of game to be found.”

     You nod in agreement, stretching out your tired body and feeling that blood pressure rise in your ears. “I'll meet you by the horses when I'm ready?”

     Arthur offers an affirming hum in response, before briskly making his way towards his horse.

     You spend some time looking around your belongings, looking for your utilities belt and satchel. You've never been, professionally hunting, at least, if that's what you can call this outing. You've done some hunting in the past, but it was always desperate and clumsy. There typically was no method to your madness on that front.

     As you prepare yourself you think about your surroundings, the morning dew was beginning to settle over the grass, it wasn't cold per se, but the air was a pleasant sort of wet blanket that seemed to make your lungs gape for the contact. You couldn't get enough of it. On top of your eagerness to spend the day with really your only human friend, excited was a significant understatement.

     You stretch your limbs once more, twisting your back to relieve any kinks and roll your shoulders for an extra measure. With your satchel in hand you find Arthur at the hitching post, fidgeting with the saddle he fitted to his horse.

     “You got a name for that Nakota yet?” You ask, watching the man work.

     “Nah, not yet anyway, got a few ideas but, nothin's jumped at me.”

     You can't fight the yawn that creeps up, your brain trying to make room and process the information it seemed. “It'll come to ya,” you manage to say through the involuntary inhalation.

     “How you and Ace getting on?” He asks while taking up the reigns, and leading the roan horse around you.

     “He's doing fine, still skittish as a doe but I'm sure we'll grow out of it.”

     “He's still young, could still be green, go round’em up and let's head out,” Arthur explains, throwing himself up into the saddle and heading towards the north path.

     You're quick to hop to, checking the girth and making sure all of Ace's limbs were still in working order.

     As you settle into your saddle, you can tell Ace knows of your excitement. Giddy as he throws his head and starts a collected canter out of camp.

     “Someone's eager,” the sharp man speaks up, “can't quite tell who's more excited though. That smile hasn't left your face since you woke up.”

     “We ain't been out in a long while; I think both of us’ll take anything we can get at this point.” Your hands are already aching as the stallion below you sits heavy on the bit, eager to move forward.

     “We otta take’em out one evenin’ let'em blow off some steam. We could test your horsemanship through the Dakota river too.”

     “I'm quite certain this one wouldn't know where to put his hooves, and we would end up toppling into the drink,” you reply, offering Ace a good scratch along his withers.

     “He's a fast one, more suited to runnin’ the roads away from, well,”

     The both of you seem to have the same thoughts come into mind, thinking about everything under the sun that the horse spooked at. In unison, you both sigh with adoration.

     The two horses eventually settle next to each other, the smaller of the two finding a pace next to the lean ball of anxiety that was throwing its head constantly just beneath you. It was a mess, trying to keep your horse focused on anything but everything.

     Spooking at a rabbit, the horse under you jumps sideways into Arthur's.

     You can hear Arthur offer some soothing commands, easing the horses before breaking out into a laugh. He seemed unbothered by the commotion, you ended up being only slightly rattled as the seat below you had shifted, and fear of being thrown into the ground caught you momentarily.

     “I think your idea of fun and mine are a tad different, Mr. Morgan.” to which he only snickers, lifting his attention to the earth around you both.

     “Alright let's leave the horses at the clearing here at the grass and head up onto that hill where the charred trees are.”

     He's already hopping down before you can protest. You look back at the camp that was only a few hundred yards away.

     “Arthur! We coulda just walked here.”

     He laughs at your pitch, “and miss all that? I don't think so. Besides we will appreciate the help carrying back our hunt. Who knows how far we will have to track’em.” He adds, patting the hind quarters of his horse.

     You offer no protest, weighing your options and sliding down the side of the saddle, rushing to follow in close behind the taller gentleman. The two of you make your way through what remains of the woodland, passing dead shrubs and the sound of charcoal crumbling under your boots was louder than ever between the silence. Part of you wished to find out if it was as comfortable for him as it was for you.

     Following his footsteps carefully, you can't help but stare at the burly man, admiring the strides and how he carries himself. You find yourself staring at the back of his head; he seems to feel that. Peeking back at you while navigating through the scorched trees.

     “What? Is there something on me?” he asks, running his hands through his hair and over the back of his neck in search for something that wasn't there in the first place.

     A chortle escapes you, ”No, I was just wondering why you didn't have your hat on you, and I don't think I've seen your hair pomade back like that without your hat now that I think about it.”

     His attention snaps forward drastically, making you think he was about to trip over something, but you turn out searching for something that wasn't there in the first place just like Arthur had done earlier.

     He clears his throat, something strangled and hesitant, “Well, I usually don't wear my hat if I ain't expecting trouble.”

     “Is it like a good luck charm or somethin’?” you ask, head still down as you watch where you step.

     He responds hesitantly like he can't find the right way to describe it, “Mm, something like that I suppose.”

     “Hell, Arthur, you shoulda brought it,”

     “Why ya sayin' that?”

     “I have a feelin’ we ain't gonna nab a thing now, need all the help we can get.” The two of you share the laughter in response to your quip before falling into a lull. Both of you were having things on your mind as a result.

     “Here,” he suddenly speaks up, a serious undertone taking it, as he crouches down along the cliff side of a pale rock overlooking the plains that greeted the river off to the right. The sights you would find still made you take pause, the morning sun coming through made the sky a beautiful silver beaming down in pleasant warm ropes without being uncomfortable on the eyes.

     He takes the rifle from his shoulder and hands it to you, looking at you expectantly.

     You pause and look at the man for any shred of humor; it must have been a joke?

     “What?” you ask, a smug smile immediately crawls onto the man’s face.

     “I already proved how good of a shot I am, I wanna see what sorta hidden talent you got stowed away in there.”

     Holding your hands up intending to reject the idea entirely, “Uh, Arthur, I don't think that’s -”

     “You do know how to use a rifle, don't you?” he questions with a blanket of concern laced between his words.

     The question has your body locking up; sweat beginning to form under your skin.

     Arthur only stares, lowering the rifle, so it's resting on the rock.

     The silence rolls, and before long thankfully, Arthur is the first one to move.

     Reaching into his satchel he pulls out his binoculars, “No better time than now to learn, Grey, let’s get you to kill us some dinner!” he adds as he lays himself prone against the rock, his tone very much encouraging as if he were talking to Jack back at camp.

     You swallow hard, embarrassed, as you lay yourself down on the rock only a little ways away, feeling very reluctant about picking up the rifle.

     “Arthur, I - I’m not sure-” he doesn't let you finish as he’s already lifting the rifle into the crook of your shoulder. The space his hands are pressing into your clothes with, burn at the contact, the embarrassment and self-consciousness are quick to overwhelm you, making you feel a dizzying sensation of displacement.

     “Right….there,” he softly utters, “this one is going to have some kick, and if you resist it, it's gonna leave ya sore, so just relax into it,” he adds with a warm smile.

     As your embarrassment begins to subside, a nervousness clatters your teeth and a cold shiver in your shoulders making them taut. You stare off past the ridge, not looking at any one thing, just trying anything to avoid bursting into flames.

     The callous hand you felt against your cheek this morning are at your shivering hands, to which is held, “Grey, you’re gonna do just fine, you got me here to laugh at ya if you screw up.” he teases gently, something soft and encouraging in his intent.

     You slowly look over at him with a heedful expression, you appreciated his attempt to get you to relax, but that only turned your mood from terrified stock still, to reluctantly partaking in the act.

     He looks to your hand which he still had held, taking your trigger finger and folding it in on itself, “And never rest your finger along the side of the gun, you’ll start getting into a habit of resting it against the trigger, and we don't want to do that. Only put your finger on the trigger when you’re ready to fire.”

     You’d heard it before, some distant time ago at an age you’re sure it was essential to have instilled that knowledge into you. The small glint of desire inside your mind kept you quiet though, patiently waiting to learn the proper way.

     You offer the man an acknowledging nod. He turns his gaze into his binoculars, scanning the fields for a segment of time, the silence and his focus tickles your curiosity and has you entertaining the long scope that laid level with the barrel.

     Too focused on trying to see through the scope, you don't recognize when he turned his eyes back on you before he starts to speak again, “Say, I know where I get my lying and tricking tendencies from, but what about you?” The in-depth question makes you wonder if he had been pondering it for a while, you lift your head from peering into the scope and give him both brows raised. “Hard to imagine you had a Hosea of your own to raise you,” he adds.

     You ponder your response for a moment, willing your mind to open up just enough to give the man the information he was seeking without letting it consume you. Quick to shut the gates again.

     “Something like that, the person who took me in was a woman; her name was Diana. She raised me at a point,” you respond through a sigh.

     “Orphan too, huh?” he asks timidly.

     Sadly you retort with, “Who isn't nowadays?”

     “Ain't that a truth.” his words more mumbled and despondent.

     “But!” you speak up trying to be the one to cheer him up this time around, “I’m assumin’ Jack’s fairing pretty well on that account, hum?”

     Arthur tosses his head away, shaking his head with some spurn, “Considering Marston refuses to step up, Claims that the kid ain't his.” he trails off with some disdain flying off of his tongue, “Jack might be better off without ‘em.”

     You try not to flinch at the sudden tension Arthur had weld up, “Not to pry, but, you seem bothered by the boy's situation more so than reasonable.”

     Arthur only lowers his head, shaking it occasionally as he struggles to fight off the wrong words, “Part of me-” you can see his teeth worrying the inside of his mouth some form of anger dancing under his pursed lips, “Part of me, probably always thought that I should’ve married, Abigail. But, at the time when she wasn't head over heels for that -” he stops himself a moment, glancing at your expression before releasing a caught breath. “Anyways, there was another on my mind at the time too,”

     “Another?” you scarcely manage to ask without breaking, the strange aching in your chest that forms at his mentioning has you choked up slightly.

     “Damn, Mary, well, She would tell you I wanted to marry the narrow box that is outlawing over her.”

     “And is she right?”

     Your question has his expression falling flat, turning to look into your eyes with stern weighing heavily on his brow, “Have you ever tried to return to a normal life, Grey? Away from all this violence and hate to build an honest name for yourself?”

     The intense and heavily layered question has you breaking eye contact, looking away anywhere down. The two of you seem to fall victim to the same thoughts.

     “Awe, don't look like that, m’sorry to have brought it up-”

     “I thought I was, Mr. Morgan,” You interject, his face turns more curious, “that was before ya’ll spared me and took me in.” Your response has him twisting his head to you, turning his shoulders more towards you as he visibly grows more invested into the conversation.

     “Surviving just barely in the barren winters on that mountain? That don't sound very honest and name building,” he thinks a moment, looking about the space between you to, “maybe more distant monkish rather.”

     You smirk slightly at his comparison, “I guess, where I was before made all that mountaineering seem normal?”

     “What do you think about us?” Arthur quickly perks up, propping his head up with his fist.

     His question has you swallowing deeply, a blush threatening your face as your heartbeat quickens, ”Pardon?” you ask as flat as you possibly could at that moment.

     “The Gang. You, staying with us. What does it feel like for you?” the man clarifies, apparently in a different dimension of thinking that you had been in.

     Refocusing yourself, you think a moment, “Well, I ain’t entirely sure,” your eyes take their turn glancing around the space between, “Some days I can feel the resentment from the eyes that are on me, other days,” you trail off unsure of how to word the feelings that came to the surface, “...other days...”

     How do you tell the man that the days spent with him made every grueling stretch with the gang worth it?

     “It’s alright, you ain't gotta force yourself.” he interjects with a tone you can't quite label before he’s already turning to look through his lenses again, “If anyone gives you hell in or outside of camp you let me know.”

     You’re at a loss of words, struggling to figure out how you could still convey to him how important he was to you, how important it was for him to be there from the start of everything without creeping the man out. You stare hard into the side of his face, lips trembling as your mind sifts through a thousand words in a desperate attempt to still try.

     “There she is,” he mumbles mostly to himself. He's nudging your arm suddenly, directing your attention to the deer that had come out from the cluster of trees across the path to the river. “You see that doe down there? The one acting a fool?”

     You lift the scope to your socket, getting as clear of a picture as you possibly could, he joins in, looking through his lenses waiting for your confirmation.

     “I see’er,” you reply quietly as if suddenly you were worried about the animal hearing you from way across the way, or maybe your anxiousness had your throat closing up.

     “There are two ways you could go about this, aiming for the head would be quick and painless and drop her where she is now. Or go for the heart and straight through the lungs, either she’ll drop instantly, or we’ll have to spend some time tracking her as she runs off before expiring.” he quickly explains, still watching through his lenses.

     “I'll try for quick and painless,” you confirm, your eye narrowing dangerously as if acutely more aware of the act about to be done.

     “Alright let’s see what you've got, remember to relax into it, and pull the trigger slowly as you release your breath when you're sure you've got’er.”

     Your ears twitch at the extra information, your breath ends up stifling, you still aren't sure if its fear or anticipation at this point. In the crosshairs, you watch as the doe continues fulfilling its basic needs, chewing obnoxiously like some Florida cracker cow.

     What made you so much tenser when taking a life this time around? You've taken more valuable lives before, what was causing this to be so much more intense for you?

     Your extend your finger that had long been tucked back and out of mind, settling your sights and preparing to pull back.

     “Wait. Hold up.” Arthur quickly rasped.

     The tension that had been buzzing in your chest jumps, locking you up as you very carefully look to the man for your next course of action. The man was looking away from the fields and towards the river. Peeking around him you see commotion; you can't make out for sure.

     “What is that?” you whisper.

     He answers, “I’m lookin’,” as if that would magically make your curiosity disappear.

     You decide to repurpose the scope on the rifle, rotating the gun to get a closer look at what was happening.

     You see three men, two dressed in black coats, and the outlier of very rural stitching. One had the countryman by the back of his vest, shoving the man into the water, while the other rummaged through the temporary camp, seemingly tickled by the terror his twin was heaving regardless if the two were making out on cash or not.

     Unconsciously the crosshairs were settling, almost level with the shoulders of the man harassing the countryman at the water. The snarl that rips through your chest has Arthur’s hand jumping to the barrel of the rifle.

     “Easy there…”

     “Its-!” Arthur is quick to give you a silencing glower that has you reeling in your temper, “We have a chance to help that man, from,” you grit your teeth hissing out your final words, “from those scum!”

     “Think about it, Grey, if you shoot one of them, somehow, with your terrible aim, and manage to avoid hitting that innocent man or missing, they’ll likely kill the man anyway, cause that’s what those types do when they get spooked, ain't that right?” he calmly conveys, resonating to your more logical thinking.

     “We can’t just leave and let them-”

     “They’ll leave on their own.”

     “Arthur!” you use his name as an argument, not sure what was compelling the man to remain unaffiliated.

     His eyes snap to yours, his expression flat mostly as if he’s pondering some untested theory, “Now whose unreasonable? Watching you come undone about this sort of thing is surprising, I didn't take you for someone who was intensely righteous.” he lifts the lenses again, “It’s something else though isn't it?” he says under his breath, so quiet and inwardly you almost miss it.

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your question has him tearing his eyes away.

     “Do you forget? When I first laid eyes on you, you were cutting people down left and right.”

     “I don't cut _People_ down! O'driscoll's ain't _People_ , they're-!” His eyes squint at your explosive reaction; his response has your nerves jumping back to which you then held. You silence yourself, shaking your head as you look away from what you couldn’t intervene in without a struggle. Arthur had returned to examining the show still being played at the river.

     It itched at your agitation, not understanding what Arthur had been studying so intensely for if he wasn't even interested in helping the poor soul out. 

     A couple of moments pass, you watch the doe and a few others from a distance as the animals graze, still oblivious to the threat you held in your arms.

     In a fit of annoyance, you speak out, “Arthur, what did you write last night in that damn journal of yours?” Your question has the man looking back at you, a brow raised.

     “Don't you worry about it.” he replied, a smirk growing on his lips as he returns his attention to the game in the field.

     “You get to be nosy, and I don't?” Your tone heavy as you come off of being grumpy, the two of you were settling back into your usual ways, teasing and prodding with your exchanges. He chuckles at this response.

     “Let's just drop the dinner and get it back to camp, alright?”

     You silently agree to it, settling the rifle into the crook of your shoulder and refocusing your sight, “I’ll find out sooner or later, Mr. Morgan, I always do.” You add in passing, still adjusting your positioning.

     “Over my dead body,” he teases lifting his lenses to his eyes again to watch for your shot.

     “Hopefully it ain't gotta come to _that_ , and, Arthur?” He makes a noise in the back of his throat, listening. “In all honesty,” you begin quietly, “I am a terrible shot.” Your shame has long passed, you held your breath almost as you admitted it to the man.

     He only smiles, “Yeah, kinda figured.”

     His response has you comforted in a way, feeling as if he held no judgment or need to poke fun.

     Your nerves had begun to settle as you exhaled deeply, pushing those distracting thoughts from your attention to focus on the doe who remain lazily grazing. The deer was a good one too, stocky and old.

     With your tongue darting out to wet your lips as a sign of concentration, Arthur’s voice rings in your mind, replaying the information he had taught you earlier. Maybe it was the act of taking something so innocent that had your nerves a mess; you still couldn't pinpoint exactly what. But you followed the instructions to a T.

     Finger slowly squeezing back the trigger, breath emptying from your lungs in a slow, steady stream.

     And like a punch to the gut, the rifle fires.

     You jump hard at the loud crack that rips through your ears, the shock your shoulder absorbs makes your heart squeeze dramatically. You would have yelped if your teeth and lips weren't clenched together like an alligator on its prey.

     As you open your eyes, you're in a cloud of smoke, unable to see much. The smell of gunpowder had enveloped your nose. The scent was somewhat familiar and oddly comforting, you would have to revisit that thought sometime to diagnose why.

     You looked to Arthur who laid very still next to you, his attention solely fixed on the aftermath. The silence and look on the man's face made you hold your breath even more, anxious to hear the outcome.

     “Well, well, you stand to have a chance after all,” he says with a smile, looking over at you knowingly, he holds up his hand to you, your mind commands you to offer the same but with the way your nerves were so jumbled and scattered your reaction was the opposite of fluid.

     He watches as you try and fight through your stiff joints waiting patiently as you manage to confirm your well-being by tagging his hand. Laughing as you succeed, he takes your hand into his, gripping tightly and pulling you partially under him for a celebratory hug, attempting to shake you free of all that tension and locked muscle.

     He separates promptly, “Let's go take a look at'er.” His voice strained as he rises to his feet, offering you a final pat on the back.

     “A-Arthur,” you rasp, “I think I need a second.” You sheepishly admit.

     “Don't make me carry you, Grey, let's go!” He responds in a very enthusiastic tone, only slowing down as he navigates to the location you last saw the deer.

     His enthusiasm has you eager to push through, rising to your feet you wait to feel them collapse under you, shivering and shaking from the adrenaline.

     You find your stride again and rush to catch up.

     The rifle felt very light in your hands suddenly, probably because you had a newfound respect for the power it packed. Likely not as terrifying to you having had experienced what it had to offer.

     The two of you made your way over; your eyes had finally fallen to the white belly that laid motionless in the grass.

     And there she was, bewilderment took your expression for its own. You took a second to appreciate the moment, watching Arthur move around the deer in the morning sun, his smile seemed to glow at you.

     “I'm real proud of you, Grey, get in here, come look at this magnificent creature.” He waved you over, kneeling behind the creatures haunches, patting the light brown fur.

     You walk around next to the man, not sure what to do with the rifle as you kneel behind the deer's shoulders and timidly letting your fingers weave between the fur. The body was still warm, and surprisingly, it was much softer than you remembered. A feeling of deep appreciation for the animal overtook you.

     Arthur reached for the gun taking it from you and laying it across the belly. He sifts through his satchel for something while you remain fascinated by the event.

     “Here,” he says, your attention snaps to him. His arm was extended out holding a box with a lens around it. He pulls you in close, jutting you in the side with his hand which spurs you to let out a smile with a laugh to accompany.

     A moment of pause takes place after the picture is taken. Before long Arthur is stuffing it back into his satchel, patting your back and looking over the kill with you whistling for his horse.

     “Let's get this stowed away on your horse,” he adds taking the rifle upon his back, “Then, I’ll show you what a professional gunslinger is capable of.” His tone was very much dramatic as he purposefully oversells himself in search of pulling a laugh from you.

     He prepares to sling the carcass over his shoulder, to which you jump up, “Wait wait wait!” you chirp, physically grabbing his bicep to encourage him to stop.

The man gives you a curious look, straightening himself back up, “What?”

     “You’re supposed to be taking it easy, remember?” you explain.

     He seems to think on your words for a moment, as if your reminder was actually doing its job, “Oh, I see, yeah, you’re worried about when Hosea told you to keep me out of trouble?” he asks, arms crossed as he exchanges with you as if he’s actually considering your words.

     And before you can stop him, the man quickly scoops up the animal from the ground without so much of a flinch.

     “Arthur!” You scold with a defeated sigh to follow.

     He shakes his head as he lets out a laugh at you, like a kid getting away with running off with a cookie. Effortlessly he tosses it over the back of your horse, and to your surprise, Ace manages to remain still for it.

     “Relax would ya? It’s not like I broke anythin’,” he informs, “important that is.”

     You physically slap your face, shaking your head with a groan, “You know! One day you really ain't gonna be well, and you’ll miss the day when we would tell ya to take it easy.”

     The smile never leaves his face as he seems to watch while you continue to rebuke him. After you realize he’s enjoying the reaction he’s getting from you, you join him while the two of you mount up. 

     Following his lead deeper into the ravine, your mind suddenly realizes you had completely forgotten about the two O'driscolls at the riverside; you have half an intention to turn around and gallop off to go find out and deal with them yourself.

     A sharp whistle catches your attention, lifting your eyes to see Arthur on his horse, back straight and rifle at his shoulder. For a moment you don't know what’s happening, it's like time stopped. The deafening silence has you looking around for any sort of movement to keep yourself grounded.

     And that’s when the crack rips through the silence, which you felt more than heard as your body flinches hard from the surprise. Ace jumps with you, the two of you seem to suit each other as Ace throws himself up and prepares to circle back, you are much quicker to regroup having realized there was no threat to speak of and physically you were okay.

     You spend a moment trying to get Ace to relax, as you start using your leg to really dig at him to get him to turn back to Arthur.

     You can hear Arthur laughing at the both of you from a distance, “You two okay back there?” he baits.

     “Just fine, Morgan!” You snap back, already knowing his intentions and you didn't wish to give the man the satisfaction. The two of you share the humor, shaking your head at him as he offers you that same knowing look from earlier.

“I’ll go get this one stowed up, and we can head back to camp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~
> 
> Phew, in the beginning when I was writing the sluggish feels, I sware I must have yawned like 15 times trying to describe the sleepy, Grey. So if you yawned with me during that part, I don't blame you.


	4. Mr. Urd Timble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man looks between you and Arthur who was standing behind him with this dumbfounded look, hesitantly jotting down his name on the blank page.  
> “And you! Mr. Urd Timble!” you snap sharply, a finger flying up while stomping over in front of Arthur standing with a very accusatory stature. “You weren’t even going to tell me you talked to this man?! You were just gonna let him go on his way without uttering a word about it to me?! You’re a son of a bitch you know that?” you yell.  
> His expression was still very much shell-shocked, having never heard your voice this way you hoped to God the gunslinger at least knew how to play along.  
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

“I don't need no damn rich boy’s toy, tie,” the man mutters, waving his hand dismissively as he begins to walk out of the changing room.  


“I for one would think you’d look just fine for it to match your vest,” Karen calls after him, waving an article of clothing in the air, “don’t be shy, Arthur! Its a sign of class!” she adds.  


You watch as the man walks out of the general store, avoiding eye-contact by fitting the brim of his hat down in front of his eyes, you could tell he was worried about something based on the reserved body language he gave. It seemed he was getting some pointers on style from Ms.Keran. Both seemed to be taking advantage of the journey out to Valentine in their own way.  


There were a few things you wanted to pick up yourself, preference related things, whether that was the crisp, sweet taste of an apple or a new knife, either way, you were definitely taking advantage of the time to look around at least.  


For a moment your eyes track the man as he walks off along the front porch and somewhere out of sight. Karen seems to have turned around and gone back to perusing her wardrobe. Briefly, you take time to ponder what purpose Karen had for new clothes, she didn't seem like the type of outlaw to hoard numerous amounts of clothes with her. You suspected something was up.  


You make your way to pay for the things you’ve decided on getting, making small talk with the shopkeeper, the man makes a comment about the commotion the two earlier had made. You feigned to have known nothing about them and let the shopkeeper make his remarks.  


After putting your belongings into your satchel, you decide to see what the state of the wagon was.  


And to your surprise, it seemed to be loaded up with food, and not stolen. Outlaws being taken from would have been pretty embarrassing. You had a feeling someone, one way or another would have made the sure wagon wasn't gone for long, however.  


Taking a moment to give it a thorough once over, checking that all the crates and tie downs were in functioning order. Satisfied enough with the packing job, your mind takes a second to examine the commotion of the town, your eyes again, naturally fall to that familiar hat.  


The man was preoccupied at the stable, negotiating about something, you couldn't tell what it was from this distance, but the way their body language was going, you figured the gunslinger might need some help in this aspect, knowing he was a man of few words.  


On your way there, you see the stable owner walk off, this doesn't deter you from meeting up with Arthur, actually quite the opposite, you almost rush now, eager to hear about what happened, and a teasing word or two ready on your tongue.  


That's when a man walking between your line of path catches your eye, staring very intently at your favorite sort of company. It made you nervous watching such an expensively dressed man looking ready to engage in conversation.  


Your bubbly atmosphere morphs into concerned curiosity, inside and out.  


“Hey,” the man speaks, his tone accusatory, “I know you.”  


Arthur lifts his head to the man, giving the man a suspicious once-over, he sees you in the background with a quick glance before waving a dismissive hand to the stranger. “I think you got the wrong person,”  


“No! You’re that man from Blackwater.” the skittish man expresses rather eagerly.  


Blackwater, ah yes, you heard all about the Gang’s grand bust in that blossoming cyst pool of government influence.  


And you did the one thing you knew how.  


You approached closer and closer to the man who had begun to back up from Arthur the more the cowboy tried to reel in the man from talking too loud. Some sort of needy desperation had you holding your breath, eager to protect.  


And with the bump of your shoulder, the lanky man is frantic to turn around to face you, some scared expression on his face.  


“Oh I’m so sorry -” you pause, a wild expression inching onto your face, “hey! I recognize you!”  


“Wh-what?” the man asks, confusion laced heavily within his words while his shoulders are scrunching up with anxiety.  


You’re quick to grab the man’s hand shaking earnestly, “I can't believe it's you! I’ve read so much about you! You’re the man from Saint-Denis,” to which the man’s brows furrow and his body language are rejecting the idea completely before he can say anything, “Oh! No not Saint-Denis, I meant Strawberry! So sorry, I’m so excited to meet you I just can't help myself.”  


The man seems to have found a new interest in what you had to say, every time he would go to turn around or change the subject your swift tongue was quick to lure him back in.  


“Say, do you think I could get your autograph?” you ask, reaching for your journal from within your satchel.  


The man is visibly flustered at this point, “Me? I mean, I’m just a-”  


“Nonsense! Everyone knows only the talented get to work with Nicholas Timmins, I hear he’s got great plans for that Inn of his, grand ideas.” You announce boldly, handing over your journal that was opened to a blank page and a charcoal utensil.  


The man looks between you and Arthur who was standing behind him with this dumbfounded look, hesitantly jotting down his name on the blank page.  


“And you! Mr. Urd Timble!” you snap sharply, a finger flying up while stomping over in front of Arthur standing with a very accusatory stature. “You weren’t even going to tell me you talked to this man?! You were just gonna let him go on his way without uttering a word about it to me?! You’re a son of a bitch you know that?” you yell.  


His expression was still very much shell-shocked, having never heard your voice this way you hoped to God the gunslinger at least knew how to play along.  


“And take that god damn hat off! You wonder why people mistake you for someone else when your face is so covered all the time if it ain't your hat its that damn rat on your face.” You snap, snatching the article from atop his head, which seemed to stir him awake from his stasis. You turn to the city native, taking up your journal as he hands it back to you. Quickly reading his name from the paper, you make it seem as if you’d known it the whole time, registering some sort of familiarity on your tongue as you pronounce it.

“I shall cherish it forever, Mr. Brooks. It was a real pleasure to have been given your most valuable time. Come on Mr. Timble, we’ve wasted enough of this gentleman’s time, with your unfortunate face.”

“So it was my face?” Arthur asks, throwing his hands up as he follows behind you as you storm off, both of you heading towards the stables. Mr. Brooks tries to speak up, questions of his own still in his head, but you raise yours louder as you scold Mr. Timble who was close behind, just as eager to get away.  


“Can’t even apologize to the man cause it wouldn't do no good, just be an insult to the man, he’s busy!”  


“You’re the one asking him to work! Using that dirty charcoal to write in your book, you fancy wastein’ respectable people’s time by collecting names or something?”  


The two of you are rounding the corner of the stables as your bickering continues, “Don't you worry about what I do, I know what I like!” You keep on adding to your dramatics.  


Quick to dive behind the building, both of you releasing some pent-up breaths, followed in suit by a round of laughter.  


He shushes you in passing, “Quiet, not so loud, the city boy might hear,” he says with his barely contained cackling.  


“Not a chance!” you push into Arthur’s shoulder, “That man couldn't teach a hen to cluck,” you add. The both of you come down from the contagious laughter between you two.  


“Honestly, did not expect that really thought you knew that hoser,” Arthur explains, moving in front of you to peer around the corner you both delved behind. He seemed to be mindful of your space, but you could tell there was a level of comfort between you both that made his closeness feel like something more.  


“Nah,” you manage to respond past your distracting thoughts. “The way he dressed, I know his kind,” you quietly say, peering around the corner with Arthur. The two of you watch as the man had begun walking down the street with a puff to his chest like he was a newfound someone.  


“If I didn't know any better I’d say that man just got his dick spit-shined, maybe you do have a saving grace since you got not gunslinger skills to speak of. ”  


You let out a scoff, “Not a surprise there, I spent learning how to appeal to an individual's desires without needing to lift a finger. This tongue of mine has gotten me out of a lot of situations in the past.” You respond a smile on your lips and your accent drawing out heavily like it was a familiar topic to discuss.  


Arthur seems to get hung up on this response; blushing you scarce to believe, his eyes snapping to has you preparing to be bombarded with questions. “What do you mean?” he asks.  


“Body Language, Arthur, there's an end goal to every man, you just gotta find out what it is and bring it to the surface,” You say with sincerity before playfully tapping the side of his temple. “And most of the time, its wealth or ego and lack of.” You smile up at him, getting a good look, and as you do, you're reminded of the hat you held behind your back.  


“How did you develop that silver tongue of yours?” he asks with that honest and strong desire to learn more about your past. It was something quiet and respectful.  


You fit the worn hat onto Arthur’s head, reminding him as he’s reaching up and adjusting it snug, you don't say anything until his eyes are peering at you from under the brim. Feeling pressure from his turquoise gaze.  


“As I told you yesterday, her name was Diana. She was, well, my version of your, Hosea,” you push off the side of the wall, making your way anywhere but there, mostly to the wagon in hopes of getting back to camp or changing the subject. “Or, something like that I guess?” Your hands flailing as you shrug.  


“What you mean by was?” he asks, keeping up with your pace effortlessly. The way his body language was had you confused, he was usually respectful of your space, but now it felt as if there was another reason that was making him so insistent.  


“She ain't around now, obviously,” you reply coldly, trying to send him a passive-aggressive message to drop the topic.  


And as you suspect, there was something else driving him, “I'm askin’ about your past, why are you so resistant to telling me?”  


You couldn’t have made your way to the wagon any faster, hoping the buzz of the town community would get him to ease off.  


“I don't want to talk about it.” You quietly retort. He seems to back down this time, sitting on the back of the wagon while looking away. Judging by the expression on his face, the pursed lips, and the distant eyes, you knew he hadn't completely let the topic go.  


The two of you sit in silence for what feels like forever, it was different than your other silences shared before. It was a feeling that had your shoulders pinching in on themselves, the skin that was closest to the agitated man wanted to shy away making the majority of your body tense as you subconsciously tried to hide your hands into the bends of your elbows. He would separate himself as he ignited a cigarette, something feeble and strained as he releases the caught smoke.  


Before long, Karen makes her way out of the general store, slurring some profanities at the clerk with a stack of wrapped clothing in her arms.  


Arthur is quick to toss the cigarette to the ground, smothering it in the mud before going over to lend a hand.  


“What a piece of work!” she explains with vexation. You had half a mind to consider the possibility it was her snippy tongue that had the man reacting in a way that she deemed rude.  


“Let’s head out, Karen,” Arthur drags, taking her belongings and securing them away in the wagon. She flaps her arms a moment in response.  


“What? What happened with you two while I was gone?”  


“Ain't nothing happened,” Arthur speaks up, to which Karen immediately declines, climbing into the shotgun seat as Arthur prepared to take up the reigns.  


“That’s a hunk of bullshit,”  


“We ran into someone who might've recognized our unfortunate faced man here from Blackwater.” You answer while hopping on the back of the wagon before Arthur is pulling them away and out of town.  


Karen seems to become excited rather than an expected concern, “What was their name?!” she gasps.  


“Why you wanna know?” Arthur inquires.  


“What if they talk, Arthur?” she asks without a shred of concern, that excitement only seemed to build.  


“No, you just looking for a job, the man ain't gonna talk, Grey made sure of that.”  


Karen seems to throw herself into her seat with disappointment, her thoughts seem to turn in on herself a second, everyone falling quiet.  


Until the suggestive tone in Karen's voice rings delicately in your direction, “Hey, Grey…” she trails.  


You slowly turn to look at her, concerned about what she was formulating had you on edge and hesitant. “...yes?” You ask.  


“You a hopeless romantic?” Karen quizzes. The question seems to have Arthur physically groaning as he shakes his head silently in the front seat as if some background information about the topic has him already dreading what's to come.  


“I ain't sure that question has anything of value in it.” You retort.  


“Oh? So you ain't interested in what life has to offer outside being an outlaw?”  


“I don't know Ms. Karen, I have so many other things on my mind, I think at one point in my life I might have been.”  


“See I told ya, Arthur, everyone has em at some point.” Karen nudges matter-of-factly. “You want a family of your own someday? Outside of us and this life we run?”  


The question hangs in the air, you ain't too sure who she was asking, and as the silence rolls, you hesitantly open your mouth, “well, I think I would be a good partner. Or a good parent, maybe. I don't know. I think I'd like kids at least, hell I ain't sure, I ain't thought about the specifics in a long while.”  


“You fancy yourself a city folk?”  


“No! God no. I'd be bored out of my mind being some home flower.” you respond as Arthur's shoulders seem to relax at this.  


“Yeah, normal life, I don't think could hold my attention, I'd go stir crazy not bein’ able to shoot someone on occasion,” Karen admits.  


“Ah, I do know how eager you are to do some poor soul harm,” you say with a teasing undertone.  


“What's that supposed to mean?”  


“I see you at camp, Ms. Karen. Your eagerness on watch it’s like you’re begging for someone to stumble upon us.”  


“Excuse you!” Karen’s shrill tone has you considering you might have overstepped your bounds.  


“Grey’s right, ya know?” Arthur dives in, sharing the weight of the hard glare from Karen with you. “It’s like you’re always itching just a bit further out from the perimeter each time I ride in.”  


“Ain't a bad thing,” you add, trying to douse the woman’s defensive behavior. “Certainly a good thing to have someone who's eager to pull a trigger on guard.”  


“Just don't do anything stupid, alright, Karen? I know you’re eager, we got a job comin’ up soon, so you’ll be able to unload, just wait until we got everything ready to go,”  


“Yeah yeah, I know already you ain't gotta talk to me like I'm a child.” Karen bickers. Your eyes are scanning the rails the road traveled beside, watching as the railway sleeper’s track along.  


Your mind seems to go into this numbness where your eyes go blurry, and your body is overcome with a sort of incoherent blank state, “A job?” You ask as the two drift into silence. Arthur silently tilts his head back at you, you can't read his expression on what the silence meant.  


“We plan to rob the doctor in Valentine, some illicit side business.” Karen boasts loudly, which Arthur seems to show some distaste about. “What? Grey was gonna figure it out sooner or later in the papers I’m sure, assuming anyone at camp besides Hosea actually reads the papers.”  


“When?” you ask.  


“You ain't coming.” Arthur bluntly informs you.  


For a second you ready your tongue to ask why. Until you get the feeling that the gang didn't trust you enough to take you long, worst of all, Arthur didn't trust you, and that stung something fierce. You know you didn't know for sure, but you were afraid the know the answer regardless. After all, how could they trust you, they found you in an O'driscoll camp and to them, only God knows why.  


You stare into the back of Arthur's head, surely the man trusted you enough to know you wanted to do him no harm. Why else would he have taken you out all these times? Right?  


“Really is just a two-man job we think,” Karen adds. “We saw the back door to the place, shop owner and was it a lawman too?” Arthur shrugs in response. “Anyways they're getting bullied out of the shop, I think it's O'driscolls.”  


You tense at the mention.  


“They ain't O'driscolls.” Arthur snips.  


“What? But the other day you said-”  


“I know what I said, and it ain't true.” You listened to the two bicker back and forth the rest of the way.  


Your mind was silently piecing together the probability of O'driscoll interference. It was one of the few things that made sense and didn't seem too far out of the way. Unless Arthur was lying? Trying to get your keen nose off the trail to deter you from wanting to get involved.  


You didn't know what to think anymore, your self-doubt and over thinking was going to be the death of you one day. You sat in the back quiet, unsure if you wanted to pursue the conflict or find something to distract you.  


Before you realized, the camp was welcoming back the three of you. You hopped down while Arthur pulled the wagon into place. You prepared yourself to untack the horses, which Kieran happily helped you with.  


You listened to Pearson as he expressed his gratitude to Arthur. That was until the gunslinger was being hauled away by Dutch into the tent at the center of camp.  
Making yourself busy you offer your help to the Butcher which he gladly accepts. The two of you and Mary-Beth spend the evening putting the supplies into their designated spots or making new storage places otherwise.  
Pearson went back to work on preparing his stew, and you made the mistake of lingering a bit too long and had respectfully sat and listened to the stories you already heard once before. As much as the man worked for this camp, you figured you owed him your ears at the least.  


When you could escape, you did. Busying yourself with your horse, giving him a routine check to make sure there aren't any more surprises waiting for you in case you needed to get out there again. He was a hairpin trigger as it was, you didn't need to give him any more reason to throw you into the ground.  


It was when night had fallen, and you had just about wrung out every ounce of activities or chores that could keep you busy. You had gotten talked out, the noise from everyone around the campfire’s made you uncharacteristically agitated. You tried to remind yourself that your agitation wasn't anything malicious, it was apparent that you had some underlying tension somewhere. Something was bothering you, and you couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what. Of course, you didn't want to pinpoint it either, you didn't want to think about anything that made your chest clench so nauseatingly tight.  


The grinding your teeth committed painfully spurred you to stand up from the burning fire, walking away without a word as few told stories and laughed to their heart’s content. They were none the wiser about how annoyed you were becoming by the smallest of things.  


Taking up a rifle from the scout's crate, you give it a once-over. Still, you couldn’t shake your emotions which buzzed with this strange and toxic form of discontent. Trying to engage in your self-awareness only seemed to make things worse. You will yourself to release a caught breath and let whatever it was go. Maybe you would feel better in the morning?  


You walk to your usual post, taking up night watch once again, only this time, before you could get there, you see Arthur, face shrouded with that black bandana. He was dismounting from his horse, his hand taking up the reigns to lead to the hitching post, he only removed his mask as his eyes landed on yours.  


The gaze you gave to him felt different from the one you both shared the day before, you were happy to see him, but, that feeling was something small in the background of your heart this time. You didn't make any moves to run up to him as you usually did. The aching from within your chest had your eyes narrowing, confusion and discomfort evident on your face.  


He removes his hat as he closes the distance to you. Something inside you was jumping wildly at what you saw, and it wasn't anything nice. You knew the man only wore his hat and bandana when he was expecting trouble or worse, killing people out of self-defense, hate, or no other choice.  


“Grey.” he starts, slicking his hair out from his eyes, as he holds the hat in hand to his side, “I took care of those O’drisscolls at the river.” his eyes, God his eyes, they have something inside of them making that glint seem like something malefic was at play.  


You stare long and hard a moment, trying to reel in your emotions that lunged at the man, eyes squinting and lip twitching upwards. You were struggling to hold your composure, that spine tensing sensation that wells up and snatches your lungs into a tight clasp. Your lips part, but through your teeth, you growl out,  


“You did what?”  


“What’s with that look?” Arthur asks, his body language looking defensive as he rocks onto the heels of his feet. “You suddenly want me to stop killing O’driscolls?”  


The question has you quicker to anger than confusion, “Wha-”  


“Oh, no, I see now,” he interrupts, some form of an antagonistic tone, “You do have a soft spot for them don't you?”  


The question alone has your temper skyrocketing, you throw your rifle to the ground stomping over to the man, “Watch your mouth, Arthur Morgan!” your snarl sounding much more intimidating than the masquerade the two of your shared earlier. “You make that insinuation one more goddamn time, and I swear I’ll-”  


“You’ll what? Go ahead.” he jab’s stepping closer to you. Your fists are clenching at your sides, you’re not sure if you’re ready to hit him or not, you can't see much past that blurring sensation that engulfs the rest of your senses.  


“Whoa, let’s take it easy you two, both of you best cool off.” Hosea had come in, having put his book down at some point to intervene.  


“Cool off? All this one’s been doing is hiding, ain't nothing to cool off from!” he waves a dismissive hand at you. If you weren't already so drenched with swelling rage, you would have shuddered at the confrontational tone Arthur gave out.  


“Hiding?!” You quiz with a scoff, you could feel your jaw clenching, coiling tighter and tighter.  


The two of you at this point have had your voices so high that the carefree atmosphere around camp had quieted down to listen in on the commotion.  


“You had no business being on that mountain, and I’ve given you plenty of chances to come clean, and it's looking more and more like you really are an O’driscoll at the core!”  


How dare this man, this man who you trusted, who you would have done almost anything for, how dare he insult you in the worst of ways. You were nothing like them, you were nothing like those traitorous bastards.  


And when you lunged at the man, you weren't clear on what you were about to do, you just knew your hands needed to be on him, needed to set something straight. The man didn't even flinch. Instead, he grabbed onto your wrists something deflective as his eyes were met with a concoction of genuine shock and his own ire.  


The moment happens so fast, you’re not sure who the hands that are on you belong to, but they’re ripping you away, pinning your elbows together behind you as they wrap up against the back of your head. You lurch and struggle, the knot the individual behind you had you in only tightened the more you thrashed, too blinded to recognize this you continued to fight the contact.  


“You think I have sympathy for those bastards?!” You spit out, “All I wanted to do was be the one to kill them, you son of a bitch! I-” you’re interrupted when your throat begins to close up, you feel as if you’re closer and closer to suffocating.  


You’re too busy desperately expending your energy to see past the tears blinding what you can physically see to recognize when Arthur loosens his tense shoulders.  


“I thought you knew me better! I thought you trusted me, Morgan!” You angrily shriek.  


You try and keep your eyes open, afraid of the visions that are replaying in your head, you continue to resist the arms around you, and as they tighten you’re overcome with even more panic, you don't realize you’re beginning to hyperventilate at the memories that ring similar to the moment right then.  


The lack of air has you fighting more, the blood rushing past your ears have you unknowing to the voices that spoke to you, you were too distracted with the ones screaming in your head.  


You didn't want anything to do with the people around you suddenly, you were afraid your history would repeat itself, and you were throwing your head at the thought of it being you who brought all that conflict. You wanted to flee before someone got hurt, your mind jumps to the image of Jack. A weep leaves your throat.  


The pain, the panic, and the exhaustion are leaving you a sobbing mess. Tears of rage and disbelief begin to pour from your lids, your lips part, teeth clenched tighter than ever as you hiss,  


“I trusted you, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🐔 .... not too sure what happened with this chapter, formatting wise, tried to make it legible as much as possible but, anyways, thanks for getting this far, can't wait to hear what you guys think.


	5. Snakes, Snakes, and More Snakes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your teeth clench with anticipation feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand. The man looked ready to strike and frankly you couldn't tell right now if he would or not.
> 
> He grabs the collar of your shirt that strained with your arms that were kept pulled back. The hands that restrained you were quick to release which practically meant dropping you, sending you falling into the fuming man that looked seething.
> 
> You stumble to keep up with him as he's partially dragging you towards Marston's tent. Offering no protest, you figured whatever was about to happen would have been better than being stabbed or shot. But it still had you holding your breath.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

     Hosea’s hand is pressing the rigid body back, “Arthur will you relax for a second?”

     Arthur only then rips himself away, storming over to you.

     Your teeth clench with anticipation feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand. The man looked ready to strike and frankly you couldn't tell right now if he would or not.

     He grabs the collar of your shirt that strained with your arms that were kept pulled back. The hands that restrained you were quick to release which practically meant dropping you, sending you falling into the fuming man that looked seething.

     You stumble to keep up with him as he's partially dragging you towards Marston's tent. Offering no protest, you figured whatever was about to happen would have been better than being stabbed or shot. But it still had you holding your breath.

     Quietly the two of you spill into the tent, letting you fall into the corner of the dark space as he reaches up to drop the flap that was tied back taut.

     As his tense frame loomed over you, his words ripple “Start talking then, I want to know everything.” His voice grating in the closed dark space. You’re not sure your words find you, and even if you did, your hesitation to open that door for them made it a lot harder.

     He seems to soften a moment, “Come’er, I ain’t gonna hurt you,” his hands are reaching for yours, gingerly guiding you to the cot, so you weren’t huddled up on the floor in the corner. “I just want to understand, I’m frustrated, not knowing,” he adds, slumping down onto the cot with you. Removing his hat and resting it on the bed with you both; He leans on his knees, looking suddenly just as exhausted as you were.

     He stares into the empty barrier of the tent, not offering a shred of pressure anymore, it had you unsure at how seemingly easy it would be to spill yourself to him.

     Your lips tremble, “I - I’m” you swallow hard, “I’m afraid to talk about it, Arthur. Afraid what it will do to me if I remember.”

     He offers a forlorn nod, his body language showed no signs of wanting to push you for answers at that moment. Arthur seemed far away almost as if he was thinking of entirely different things before he speaks, “I killed them because, I knew that the river incident bothered you, but, mostly because I didn't want you to be the one killing.” he admits quietly.

     Your brows twitch, knitting together with confusion, “What are you talking about? I’ve killed before,”

     “I know, I know, but, hearing you talk about what a normal life would be like for you, I think.” He pauses, his mouth agape as he tries to find the right words, “I think I wanted to give you that, somehow?” a moment of silence takes place before the man is jumping up from his seat. The two of you seemed to have reached the same interesting train of thought, his face was flushed if his voice was anything to go by. “I mean, n-not like that, I mean I wanted to keep you from the aspect as much as I could.” he was nervous, uncharacteristically so. It had your eyes widening and your heart getting louder to a new tune.

     “And I suppose when you stonewalled me this morning, and then when you got angry at what I did at the river, I reckon I thought maybe I failed?” He rests his jaw into the palm of his hand as he mulls over his words, “I think, my frustration on not knowing what turned you so seething at them, I think it blew up.” his words are hesitant as if he’s stepping around and fitting a puzzle together. He sighs defeated, “It’s a mess, writing is easier to understand, then again, not sure what good it would do me if I can't even understand it in my head.”

     “But, Arthur,” you have your own hesitation as well, “We don't even know each other that well. I could be this horrible person who'd done bad things.”

     Arthur looks more at you than around you, “We’ve all done bad things, that ain’t what makes us bad people though.” he pauses a second, “Or, at least, that's what Mary-Beth might've said. You’re a joy to be around, Grey, you make my days, well, damn near perfect. It's a nice change of pace to not be surrounded by bloodthirsty idiots.” his words sounding like some sort of confession, your heart begins to beat at an unreasonable rate.  “I’d like to get to know you better, I mean just outside you looked terrified, and when I ask you directly what it is that you don't want to re-live, you don't give me an answer. And I feel so, I don't know, its like I can't do nothin’. You saved my life once. Whether it was intentional or not, you continue to show me every day some sort of clarity about how this crappy way of life is going. Helping me realize it ain't all bad, gettin' me to laugh and what not.” the man is doing something weird with his hands like he’s trying to visually figure it out himself as well.

     Like a jolt of electricity the man is sitting back down next to you, rubbing his head, it seemed he wasn't sure what to do about your silence. While you listened, it must have been just him and a lifetime as he spilled his thoughts. You knew verbal communication was something he was inexperienced with.

     “I worry about what happens after I tell you.” you choke out, your breath held tight as your shoulders scrunch up.

     “I don't know, Grey, I've witnessed a lot of things and I highly doubt anything you could tell me right now would repel me.” his accent was almost comical, your mind briefly snickering at the fact the man did manage to get up to all sorts of crazy things whether it was planned or not. “What?” He asks, his head lowered to catch your eyes, his own smirk developing to match yours.

     “Just thinking about how much mischief you get into, ain't sure if you're looking for it or not at this point.” You explain, shaking your head at the man.

     “Yeahh'p, never a dull moment 'round here.” The two of you sit quietly while coming down from the relaxed tone, sharing in the soothing sensation humor had on you two.

     The silence drags, and you took that time to figure out how you were going to begin to confess your sins. Arthur was very much patient, his eyes tracking around the tent that sheltered the both of you as his own thoughts circled around. To find the words, to even think about saying them, it made your nauseous, like the air in your throat was heavy and filthy on your tongue.

     “I am, a turncoat.” You start, your eyes anxiously combing through every detail Arthur's body language was subconsciously giving to you. He doesn't seem too surprised yet. “And I'm-” you shudder, the muscles in your throat quivering with the stomach-churning thoughts running through your head, “I'm an orphan murderer.”

     This has him twitch, replaying your words as he processes what you could possibly have meant. “What you mean?” He asks, his tone was as you expected it to be. His shoulder's turn more towards you as he's looking you in the eyes.

     You hold his stare a moment, watching as his orbs dance back and forth over yours. Before you begin again you're looking behind the man at the flap behind him, “It must have been months when it happened. That woman, Diana, she taught me everything I know for the most part after taking me in after I was Orphaned.” Arthur seems very intent on listening his expression was flat like he was remaining open to what you had to say. “And, naturally, I bent over backward for her. She tasked me with infiltrating or, pretending to be an O'driscoll to really get a read on their movements or any other form of leverage.”

     “I thought the O’driscolls only took in the Irish?” he quizzes.

     “I thought so too, it took me a while to find out where they kept their - - loved ones.” You watch the man's brows twitch with an indirect interest, but unswayed still. “So, I did exactly as my highness wanted, embedded myself into their numbers. Accidentally made more than a handful of,” you stutter on your tongue, the need to swallow interrupts you as what you prepare to say next brings pain to your eyes as tears well up at the lids. “accidental friends, that, really trusted me. And I,-” your breath shudders as the guilt from what you had done begins to take a seat in your heart. And as your mind recaps everything that happened from what felt like a lifetime ago you're already breaking down, sobs ripping painfully through your throat. 

     It was as if it happened just yesterday. You had spent what felt like months trying to keep those memories distant and closed to even your self. You hadn't properly had the chance to air out that pain, it still felt all too fresh.

     Arthur inches closer, his leg brushing along yours as his arms are wrapping around you. Soothing you as best as the emotionally inexperienced man knew how, while resting his chin on the top of your head. You allowed yourself to go limp against him trying to recollect yourself.

     Your guilty consciousness begins to dig it's nasty teeth into you, accusing you of being unworthy of such comfort. The abuse your mind afflicts has your sobbing, halting, and hardening in the span of a few seconds as you find yourself in a sensation without feeling, a certain calmness arises.

     “It was her, Arthur,” you boldly declare, “she ratted me out, they wanted me dead for it, and, I wasn't satisfied with dying for that…”

     No, ‘ _bitch_ ’ wasn't the right word, you missed the happy times, you ached at the distant bittersweet memories of the laughs that you and Diana shared. You missed that. Just that.

     You must have been lost in those thoughts for a while, Arthur speaks up, “So, the O’driscoll’s found out you weren't them and tried to have you killed?” he clarifies.

     “I tried to get out, Arthur, I did!” You desperately convey, sitting rigid as your hands pulled at the shirt that covered his chest. “They grabbed me in the middle of camp, they intended to confront me, and I thought - and-”

     “You don't gotta -”

     You shut your eyes at the temptation of stopping, wanting to bid farewell to this situation forever, “I have to tell you, Arthur. You are one who deserves my honesty, and if I don't do it now, I may not be able to again.” He rubs your back, conciliation in his intent. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “They, well, they welcomed me back to camp as per usual when I would go out looking for something to contribute like everything was fine, I noticed how odd they were behaving but, thought nothing of it until I had asked them about what had them so strung tight. Then, as I was confronted, my, unfortunate friends and a few others had surrounded me. I was grabbed from behind, restrained, and, I had to, admit to them everything.

     Lying to them at that moment wouldn't have worked, they already had all the proof of it, evidence only Diana would have known. My family, my name, when I was picked up, it sounded so, distant, having spent forever fitting into their ranks. The mention of who I was before I met them was, unfamiliar almost, I didn't want to go back.

     And, as I admitted it, everything began happening so quickly. The manager of the outpost at the time, he had barked out something quick and without hesitation. Snapping his bony fingers, and that's all it took before they were hauling me off to the perimeter of the camp. I thought they were going to let me go, tell me not to come back, which I would have gladly done.

     But, no.

     They pushed me into the mud, it was dark of course, but, I could still make out the camp, I remember a few children had been watching, which I thought defeated their purpose for dragging me out there, but I remember, thinking about, not wanting them to see. They were tough kids of course, but, it seemed, wrong, to just continue to let them know the world as this sort of, dog-eat-dog fashion thanks to the choices of which their parents chose.

     Anyways, I -” your brows furrow a moment, confusion dusting over you, “I can't even remember who it was who had the gun to my head, there was a brief moment where I thought about pleading, but, the expression on their face and their body language, I remember it being hurt, betrayed.

     And then after I realized the intensity of this momentous span of time, I think, I - hell, I don't even know where it came from. It was something focused and fluid. It’s not something i've had time to decipher really. But it took care of things.”

     “What took care of things?” Arthur curiously tries to remain on the same page.

     “I ain't sure, it was some sorta trance? As if all my fear had popped, like a bubble, disappearing completely.” you feel more than see him nod more in an understanding of your confusion about the topic as well. You swallow hard, gripping the fabric of Arthur’s clothes as you prepare to dive into the more intimidating segments of your memory.

     “I had been on my knees for what felt like an eternity, they would spit words of disdain at me, I don't remember them all too well, I only know how badly they had been hurt, I just knew how badly they fell to their anger and were quick to follow the order to kill me. And that pistol, that, generic, cattleman’s pistol, the barrel was like an abyss, every time I see such a thing, it reminds me of what it was like to look down one. So violent and loud, even before the pull of the trigger.

     I think I lunged at them then, that thing I mentioned, it washed over me and had me doing things that were neither desperate or relaxed. I executed both of my retainer’s quickly. There was a split moment where I remember the man looking up at me, it was an almost out of body experience to have our positions flipped.

     That’s when, well, I think that's when the hell broke loose. I think one of the kids from camp, had alerted the gang of what happened. I don’t blame 'em. It was smart what they did.

     And when more members started to flood in to investigate, I had used the trees for cover, I'm disgusted with myself at the thought, snaking my way through so quietly. I don't remember how many there were, I just knew I wasn't safe, and because of this, I kept going until I was. That’s when -” your shoulders are tensing again, breath being sucked in with a pained wheeze, “Their children had guns, knives too, Arthur. I turned them into Orphans and when they had every right-!” The violent shivering under your skin had swallowed your nerves completely. “When did it become okay to think that I, my own, betrayal was more important than their lives, they were just-!”

     “Easy, Grey.”  The man warns, his voice something thick and coarse. You couldn't hear it past the incoherent and frenzied energy that bounced inside of you quickening at a violent degree.

     “Why couldn't they have just, talked to me? Those coward bastards! They didn't want to take any chances but at least maybe then -”

     “Don't go down those thoughts, ain't gonna get you nowhere.” he interrupts.

     “I was so sickeningly loyal, Arthur. I keep wondering if part of me still thought I could go back to Diana for answers and comfort, and maybe that is what pushed me to so hard to survive, but, then” you swallow freezing as you stare past the man's face, “one of the rookies, he, told me what he had learned. And for the longest time? I didn't want to believe it.” You seemed to be calming down somewhere as if that voice that was punishing you before wanted you to speak of how you danced to its whip. “That's when I went to the north, looking to punish myself, I was up there for a few weeks I think.”

     Your head tilts as you try and remember between what was real and what wasn't, “I remember suffering a fall?”  the word 'fall’ had come out weighted and dark. “When I somehow came to, it was like some switch flipped, I realized the damage to my head had been severe, I don't know if that's what made my whole outlook on the situation change or what.” Your body had greatly settled down at this point with the occasional shiver leaving you.

     “I had suddenly become very aware of my situation, everything from before was beginning to make sense after I saw past my denial. But, still, I was the one who needed to be punished, I pulled that trigger, I had a choice and-,”

     “You didn't.” Arthur interjects, “I probably would have done the same things.” His words had you blinking away your tears, a surprised expression taking your eyes. “hell, Dutch could probably betray me right now and I probably would have protected myself if I could had, still thinking I could go back to him, talk to him, figure out why he did...” he trails off.

     You part your lips to argue, but nothing comes out.

     “You're human, Grey. Ask anyone of these sad souls here and they would likely do the same.”

     You lean forward into your hands, the pounding in your head had your already distressed body wanting to go somewhere dark and fall asleep. “I have to find him.” You utter mostly to yourself.

     “Hm? Find who?”

     “Colm.”

     “Colm O’driscoll? I don't know if that’s -”

     “I know what he did to Dutch’s love, I know the gang is a rival to that snake.”

     Arthur removes himself at your words as he sits back, “You sound like Dutch right now,” he utters with a shake of his head.

     You seem to chirp up, “It’s one of the main reason’s I've stayed Arthur! What better place to find out about Colm than the people who just robbed the son-of-a-bitch out of a heavy haul.”

     Arthur jumps from his seat, kneeling down in front of you, “No,” together he takes up your hands within his, “Grey, look, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told Dutch, revenge is a luxury we can’t afford.”

     You grab his hands with just as much eagerness, “Arthur, imagine the life after our revenge is sated! Everything that made us miserable, Gone! Nullified!” your words make Arthur jut away, rising to his feet as if his hands were seared by yours.

     “No! That ain't your way forward, Grey.” his tone seems to be raising, that frustration from before rising to broil his calm surface, “That normal life you talked about having? That only starts after you’ve left that behind,” he’s pointing outside like he’s telling you where you can leave that revenge of yours, he didn't want any part of it. “Besides, why you want Colm? He seemed passive in that story of yours.”

     You lean forward to the man, eager to explain, “He is the only person I know of who would know where Diana is.”

     “Who's to say he hasn't already gotten rid of the woman?”  he inquires, waving his hand in the air and fitting his hat back on looking ready to flee from the tent where he stood.

     “That’s somethin’ I need to know.”

     His body language has you feeling like he’s not changing his mind soon, “Then read the damn newspaper instead of blindly throwing yourself at things that are going to consume you and everything you hold dear.”

     “Morgan, have you ever lost anything in your life?” Your tone making the question sound more rhetorical which has the man growing quite a moment, hiding his gaze behind that increasingly obnoxious brim of his. Who was in the hot seat now?

     “Of course,” his words come out more choked sounding than you expected he would have liked.

     “And what did you do about it?”

     “Nothing! What happened, happened.” his voice was beginning to rise with yours again.

     “You punished yourself too didn't you? Still are!”

     “I can only do better by them now, I ain’t gonna do that by running off being stupid, and abandoning my responsibilities like John does or you now apparently with the way you’re so ready to jump and slash at the throats of bad men who don't deserve your attention.” he counters pointedly. Holding your eyes with a gaze that has any fire you had within you receding.

     A frown falls on his face, approaching you as he offers your shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Look, I ain’t expecting you to go and forgive the woman, just, think about your precedences, the things you’d be forgettin' and abandonin' if you let the things that make you sour decide what’s important to you and not.”  

     The two of you share a knowing gaze, silently conveying that you were considering his words. How could you not? You weren't even sure you'd seen Arthur not get his point across to anyone other than Dutch. You tear your eyes away, looking to the floor and you worry the inside of your lips with your teeth. Arthur slowly straightens himself out, giving you one last assuring pat to your shoulder before turning away.

     As you watched the man leave the tent, your thoughts begin racing, pondering the possibility of really coming to terms with what happened, testing the theory of forgiving that selfish woman.

     Your face twists at that thought alone. You assured yourself that perhaps, you just needed time to accept that thought without dismissing it as impossible upon first glance.

     Angrily you dismissed that idea too, your skin was beginning to run hot with the dilemma dancing in your head.

     You rubbed your eyes, as if in doing so, the questions would magically vanish. When that failed, you tried to work up the courage to leave the tent, scared about the eyes that would be on you. What would you even tell them if they asked? Would they ask?

     And that they did.

     You had been at the pronghorn table eating, minding your own business and recovering from the physical and emotional strain you had been put through. You were trying to keep your mind occupied on anything but the questions that never failed to tire.

     The commotion had your ears tweaking at stew fire with interest.

     Bill was laughing in some vulgar and obtrusive manner, long metal tongs chomping wildly at a body that laid under him at his feet.

     Kieran.

     The poor soul was squawking, trying to get away from the harassment, which, you couldn’t blame him for the noises that left his throat, you probably would have done the same if someone was standing over you with molten jaws in hand and snapping at you as they threatened to mutilate your reproductive organs. You intended to intervene, abandoning your spoon and before the bellow could leave your throat, Arthur had seemed to be a step ahead of you.

     The blood-curdling snarl that left the man’s throat had you rocking back into your seat while you watched him storm in to confront Bill and pick up Kieran from the ground. With the way Arthur’s tone rung and tickled your ears, you knew the man was trying to play it neutral. Struggling to give Kieran a nonchalant tease and Bill the benefit of the doubt. Either way, you knew his goal was accomplished, as he sent the two off on their separate ways.

     Just another demonstration of why you thought Arthur to be the incredible man that he was, your mind had found something new to ponder it seemed.

     Your daydreaming is rudely cut short, as the seat between you and what you indulged in became obstructed. The smell of alcohol wafted into your face making your nose scrunch up with distaste.

     Micha.

     That shit eating grin on his face made your mood spike instantly to defensive, you knew something was on his mind, why else would he be purposefully intervening on your time alone.

     “So, a little birdy told me you’ve got some secrets to share with the whole class.” he practically hollers, encouraging others to join in on the peer pressure, if you could call it that. He’s taking a swig of his liquor, sloppily sloshing the bottle around on the table.

     Unfortunately for him, you had been spent of all your patience and willingness inside that rickety old tent. And considering you just had your singular moment of peace for the night ripped away from you by the likes of this individual, you weren't too sure how things were going to go, for him at least.

     The topic he brings up already has you yawning, some form of unconscious reaction to the stress it raised, which he is lifting his head at.

     “Am I boring you already, Princess?” the name has you raising a brow but it’s also something you’ve heard a thousand times before, and you remain unbothered in the slightest at the weak attempt of an insult.

     “Say, Micha, you’re mean enough to eat off the same plate with a snake,” you get comfortable, crossing your arms and prying yourself up as you stare hard into the man if that's what you could call him. “So why not take tonight off?”

     “Bein' mean is part of the job, I reckon you might know a thing or two about it. Is that what I was hearin' through all that snot you were makin’?” He laughs out, to which you smile, tilting your head and offering him the slightest of laughs, something tickled and carefree. But your eyes showed something different. “You make me look like an innocent songbird.” He laughs out, trying to rile you up.

     To which he manages, pulling a guttural laugh from you, “Let me tell you, it’s really laughable watching you tryn' fit your entire vocabulary into our conversation, Micha.”

     The two of you were prone to being hairpin triggers when it came to this sort of exchange, you’d seen it in the maniac on numerous accounts as he antagonized the rest of the gang members. This was your advantage here.

     “You calling me an idiot?”

     “What’s wrong Micha? You can antagonize everyone here all day long but when it comes time for you to eat the plate you made you can’t stomach it?” your hand gestures to the camp around you, “Micha, you’re built like a snake on stilts, you could use some fattening up.” You add unable to hide the voracious tone that was laced so wonderfully between.

     You smile back at the man, your instincts buzz as you anticipate some sort of violent reaction.

     And as the man jumps to stand from the table, your knife is at the ready. Without hesitation, you bring the blade down into the table successfully snagging the man’s sleeve. Whether you were prepared to skewer the man’s hand or not, you felt confident enough in delimiting of the man’s range of motion. After all, the perks of being in a gang that didn't fully accept you left you with a lot of time to yourself, which you spent sharpening your equipment to every degree.

     The man stills as you’re clasping his collar and sitting him back down in his chair with a bit more force than you expected from yourself, no doubt all that pent-up frustration with yourself was coming out through your hands. With your grip still digging your blade into the table, you’re whispering at his ear, teeth clenched with exasperation as you speak. “Sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut and give the impression that you’re stupid than to open it and remove all doubt,” he jerks away from you or tries to anyways before your snare has him settling back into his chair involuntarily.

     “You think you’re tough shit don’t you?” he hisses out, his teeth clenched tight as he bares them at you.

     “If you’ve already heard what you claim to have heard then you should know I’m not beyond killing a man whose cut out of the same cloth, so don't tease me like this, you miserable urchin.”

     And with one swift motion, you’re releasing him and sweeping up the bottle he had been nursing earlier. Walking off without a second glance and sheathing your valued metal. As your lips prepare to deliver the unknown contents you determine the strength of the whiskey from the burning in your throat.

     Yes, you needed something like this, maybe the visit from your new best-bud-Micah was a blessing in disguise. Sure the threats were real, did you say them without making yourself flinch internally? No. The voice from before that abused you when it could seemed quick to prepare a defense for you that made sense and had weight to it. And with the way you had poured everything out to a man whose opinion you held above all, you were no longer fearful of what lesser beings thought. Let them think, let them react.

     You didn't care.

     Did you?

     Surely you were just tired, been pushed too hard in aspects that were more mentally challenging than physically.

     Dragging yourself to your lonely roll out at the base of the tree you called home, you throw yourself down with the half-empty bottle in tow. Leaning your back against this oddly comforting tree, you look out at what nature had to offer you in its graceful slumber. You prepared to interrupt your thoughts with the nectar of fire in hand. The agonizing torture they intended to inflict on you that evening had you hunched over something miserable.

     And before your mind could be taken away by the alcohol that was slowly overriding your system, you hear the faintest of whispers, air breezing past their tongues like snakes.

     “Don't you start too, Marston.” Arthur quietly hushes, the two must have been under Arthur’s layout, discussing something very private.

     It was Marston who was now the persistent one, “What’s the deal with you anyways?”

     “There ain’t no deal with anything.” Arthur retorts, “You all keep making things more complicated than necessary, hell, we wouldn't need to be outlaws no more if y’all put the same amount of effort as you do whisperin’ to one another about things that is none of your business, and put that effort into getting us some goddamn money.”

     “Don't try and change the subject, you ain't foolin' nobody, I’ve seen you like this before, so what is it between you two?”

     “It ain’t like that,” Arthur lowly deflects, “now go do something productive and give that shit a rest would ya?” he ushers.

     Judging by the silence, you suspect the younger man was giving Arthur a silent look or two before walking off.

     What were they talking about?

     You hesitate to let you hear your thoughts, eagerly trying to stonewall them with the liquor in hand. But as you're releasing a sigh you finally crumble, your assumptions finally weighing and breaking that feeble support you had tried to stable yourself with. All the self-doubt and unease about having no place to belong was coming down on your harder than the drop of a hammer.

     And as quietly as you could, profoundly you wept. Allowing yourself to submit to the relentless sensation that demanded your tears, you knew you would feel better after it was over, so you fed it, more and more, almost savoring the salty taste that dripped passed your lips on occasion. You quivered with the intent to keep quiet and undisturbed, you didn't want anyone to see you this way.

     You must have been a couple minutes into this assembly that ate you inside and out, when that calmness came into your mind, whispering to that logical side of you that had your tears abruptly ceasing. Your thoughts began to swim with ways to fix how you felt. Searching consistently for ways to make the pain go away.

     As the final idea came to a close, you cross-checked the probability multiple times, attempting to reconstruct the cause and effects to what would result of this, oddly tempting spout that had been turned on in your head.

     Slowly, you lay yourself down on your feeble rollout, carefully placing your head in such a way that you could have been mistaken as some fragile object. Resting your body your eyes scanned the tree line in the distance, admiring the black void that masked the stars in the sky. And with the shut of your swollen eyelids but one promise to yourself left the voice in your head.

     You would leave tomorrow.


	6. Falling Into Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The towering figure is scanning the room, and it's not but a second when the man’s eyes land on you.
> 
> You knew those eyes.
> 
> You quizzed yourself.
> 
> Arthur’s here?
> 
> You then bubbled, a smile evident on your face.
> 
> Arthur’s Here!
> 
> You somehow managed to stop yourself from practically jumping out of the tub when your excitement twisted into embarrassment with a tinge of dread at the awareness of your situation.
> 
> Arthur is here!
> 
> Oh, what terrible timing.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

     You felt your spine burning, no you weren’t lifting anything heavy or, falling in such a way as to inflict this sort of pain, the sensation shows no sign of letting up, that wasn't what had you jerking to sit straight up, however. It was how quickly the burning was doubling, spreading its greedy talons up the expanse of your back.

     Jerking your head to catch the culprit, you're met with a sight that you were scarce to believe until you were forced to.

     Springing to your feet you are quick to shed your duster and throw it into the dirt, the coat’s new affiliation with fire was certainly not your choice. Quickly snuffing out the flames with your boot, you catch your breath having lost it all trying to rid yourself of the waiting jaws of the fire.

     ‘ _That’s it!’_ You internally snarled, ‘ _I’m getting absolutely nowhere with this!’_ your hands are wiping the sweat from your brow, defeat crashing over you seemingly all at once.

     You had been away from camp no more than a week, and already you were finding you were helpless. You were angrier than ever. You thought that being elsewhere would give you some time to thoroughly consider Arthur’s words. And here you were, the very mention of the man was making your ongoing headache swell.

     You missed him.

     Missed his smile, his confidence, that brilliant chuckle it seemed only he would bless you with. Oh yes. His physical appearance was just a plus to you whenever he would display his wonderfully sculpted physique without a second thought, you were always torn between staring with reckless abandon, or, you know, being respectful and never allowing yourself to indulge where you weren't invited.

     A longing sigh leaves your lips, heard only by Ace who minded you with only the tilt of his ear across your little camp. You try to imagine what Arthur would have said to you about your time playing in the fire just then, some sharp quip rolling off his tongue you were sure.

     With a sigh, you’re picking up your damaged duster assessing how bad the fire had seared your only coat.

     Who were you kidding? The man would have stopped you from catching fire right from the start. He was thoughtful like that, seems to always keep you out of danger or other forms of inconveniences.

     Your eyes begin to trail around camp, the pathetic and small space made your confidence shrivel.

     What were you thinking?

     You wanted to try, if not for yourself then for Arthur at least. You hated to admit it, but, maybe this wasn't something you could do in the span of a few days not to mention alone. Your independence was something you very much prided on, and the brief thought of where you would have to go back and explain how you had achieved absolutely nothing but wasted time and a ruined duster brought a tightness to your chest.

     Well, maybe, that wasn't all you had, I’m sure Arthur would have managed to find some good in your voyage for what he would call a cure to the revenge you wanted. As you sat and pondered some more, you doubted your need for revenge was sated, if anything you think you felt worse in that regard.

     You begin to rub your hands along your tired face, the dread of not having an answer to what you could be doing was starting to overwhelm you. And before you let yourself fall into the cycle you had finally realized you had been in, you jut up, and begin grumpily snuffing out the campfire.

     You had already thrown in your towel, that wasn't going to change with a few more abusive thoughts that you've probably already heard over and over already.

     Hustling around to collect your mobile camp you find yourself excited, yet, sluggish at the same time. You were anxious to see Arthur again, but, also, you were anxious to see Arthur. You read that right, wanting to see the man and also wanting to not have him find out about your failed attempt at something he genuinely seemed to want you to partake in.

     Approaching Ace you fit your belongings into or on your saddle, strapping everything together before you take a moment to appreciate your magnificent companion. That would be another thing that had you eager, you couldn’t wait to show off the hard work you put into Ace the past few days. The stallion was still very much jittery like throwing his head around when trotting, but it seemed he wasn't spooking sideways at the drop of a hat.

     Taking one last look around, you saddle up and leave this pathetic excuse for a vacation behind you.

 

 

     Along the way as you made your way back to camp, you practiced your seat, working with Ace and testing him with different obstacles and challenges, you couldn’t help but giggle at the way the horse was actually looking at things, his head high and eyes wide while cautiously working up the courage to perform as you'd asked. He was getting better though.

     And as you two reached the main road, you let Ace gallop to his heart's content, the wind in your ears has your heart fluttering with excitement, you could tell the stallion needed some much-needed stretching or something he didn't have to overthink about either. And he hungrily accepted every inch of reign you gave him, his head throwing forward as his hooves attacked the ground mercilessly. What a hot-blooded horse you had, you couldn't help but adoringly roll your eyes as Ace spends the rest of his pent-up energy.

     As a final test you use your legs to steer him towards an obstacle, a rotting log in the middle of a field, you still couldn't quite figure out where it came from, but it provides the perfect challenge for this racehorse that was too busy getting his rocks off.

     His ears flick forward as he notices the obstruction in his path, you have your shoulders rolled back prepared to be thrown over his neck once he stops. Yet, he doesn't, he actually over exaggerates the width of the log and sends the both of you springing into the air, as you two land without an ounce of grace, he seems to speed up, bucking sideways. A laugh serges up from your gut as you watch the horse throw his own little tantrum, nothing aggressive, but you could tell he didn't enjoy the surprise.

     Soothing him you let him drive as he wishes, whether that was something rushed and collected, or something relaxed and extended, you were enjoying the ride either way. And as you approached the woodline that shrouded camp, you ask him to roll to a nice walk. Giving his head more reign as he relaxes his neck.

     At first, you don't recognize that no one stood watch, it was the quietness of the woods that caught your attention first. As you cleared trees and shrubs, your heart drops.

     The camp was gone.

     There was nothing. No chicken, No horse, No ember of a dying fire. Not a single plank of wood beside for the abandoned crates in the distant corners, apparently forgotten, just like you.

     You don't even take the self-pitying thought seriously as you’re sliding off your horse to look around at the tracks left behind.

     Eyes searching for clues, you aren’t able to find any hint of a struggle. You weren't capable of seeing past the large wagon wheel indents along the mud. You try to determine if they left in a hurry or not. With the reins in hand, you’re crouching down, testing the state of the mud where the tracks imprinted in an attempt to find out how long ago they moved out.

     Your only answer was that it looked to be a while ago, three days ago at least.

     As you sit up, you try and remember what you were doing those three days ago, you were probably busy wallowing in the self-inflicted mental abuse while hunting for food. Your thoughts are interrupted when you catch the glint of fresh tracks off the edge of the mud around it. Hoofprints; you looked for more sets, and when you found none, you pondered who it could have been exactly. It's obvious they didn't stay long, so you followed them across camp as they made their way towards the tree you use to sleep under. The footprints seem to pace here.

     What were they up to?

     You looked around, from the roots and up to the tree branches. You double take on the small white brick hanging and twisting in the wind. Reaching up to grasp it from the tree, you examine the domino piece. The number read one.

     A blackened dot on one side of a blank canvas.

     You briefly pondered the significance, was it a sign left for you? If so, what was it trying to tell you? You supposed you should have felt grateful either way, the idea that someone thought to try and give you at least a hint before they packed up and left warmed your heart.

     With a sigh you drop your shoulders while looking around at the baren space, feeling unfamiliar without the buzz of the gang members you genuinely enjoyed.

     You take a moment, looking towards Ace and you offer to show him what you found, to which he takes an interest, sniffing it, then touching it with his lips before promptly trying to eat the game piece. He has you fighting for it back as you’re telling him a string of ‘No’s.’ And as he relents you take a moment to offer him some actual food, he must have been hungry at least.

     While Ace eats the oatcake from your palm, you ponder your next course of action. While you had been exhausted, you were mostly made of muck and sweat, you haven't slept decently since Arthur’s confrontation. And with your newfound lack of care you felt like your new priority was to find the said man, and - - well you weren't sure what you were going to do when you saw him. You just needed to see him and the gang, wherever they went off to.

     Your eyes fall to the domino that laid warmly in your other hand, squinting as you tried to decipher what it had meant if anything at all. The only thing that was coming to your mind was the memory of your time with Hosea, chatting together, having that relaxed quality time as they formulated the plan and put worries to rest.

     Having half a mind to ask someone in town about it, your face scrunched at the idea, probably not the best thing to do if the gang was trying to remain hidden, you didn't want to risk leading anyone to wherever the gang ended up. You'd have to figure this out on your own it seemed.

     Mounting up into your saddle, you make your way towards Valentine in search of news and maybe on your way out get a quick bath to get you feeling not so hungover on whatever self-pity you were drinking. How embarrassing.

  


     By the time you had arrived at that cow pie of a town, night had rolled in right along with you, the burning sun had left only a sliver of light as it rounded the trees.

     Taking a moment to hitch Ace to the post outside the inn, you spend what was left of your energy on grooming the good boy that he was. Checking him over for any injuries that could have occurred during the hike. After you got him looking his best him, you made your way inside, The lights made it look so much warmer than it felt, but, either way, you were there for a bath and nothing else, or were you?

     You assured yourself you should probably wait till first light before you started your hunt, no use in trying to find something in the dark when that time could be spent resting up and making sure you’re one hundred percent. The innkeeper gives you an expectful look, chirping up from his slow night, you silence him with a finger for one second, as you turn back around to grab your saddle from Ace.

     No sense in leaving it on em overnight if you weren't planning on going anywhere soon, he deserved rest too.

     Lugging the seat off of his back you wobble your way back into the building. You give the man a smile, acknowledging your odd behavior the two of you seem to share a knowing laugh over. The man is quick to ask what you were interested in. You were ready to explain, later asking if he had any newspaper’s around. And understandably so, you’d have to pay for all of it. Money wasn't an issue for you right now, so you gave the man his pay and signed the log book for him before making your way upstairs to your room.

     You thought the coral colored cloth over the light fixture was tacky, but, you also found it quite soothing, if you didn't think too hard about the implications of what it tried to imply.

     Pouring into your room at the end of the long hall, you hang up your saddle on the end of the bed board, hesitant to rest the saddle's full weight on the fragile looking thing you slowly step away as you wait for the seat to come tumbling down. And to your subtle relief, you did an excellent job balancing it on there. Nice Work.

     As you finish settling in, you make your way back out downstairs, the innkeeper informs you about the bath you wanted, explaining it was ready for you at the end of the hall to his right.

     You exchange pleasantries while you pick up the newspaper from the counter, before eagerly making your way back.

  


     As you open the door and shut it behind you, the humidity of the room is almost a relief. Your skin chills at the pleasant sensation of being wrapped in that warm blanket in the air. You take your time, undressing and enjoying the comfort you had paid for.

     Preparing yourself to enter the bubbly bowl, you gingerly test the water with your toe, the heat startled you for a moment, but, then you try again,  and again, before long you're sinking yourself into its embrace. The warm water hugged you so soothingly as if it was squeezing the stress from your lungs in the gentlest of ways. A contented sigh leaves you, just taking a moment to appreciate the stillness.

     You almost don't want to move, you just want to embrace the numb feeling throughout your body. That was until the thought of Arthur’s smug smile drifted its way into your imagination. Then suddenly it was a faucet you couldn't find the off for, you rest your head back with an involuntary groan leaving you. The more your mind wandered around the man; from his smile to his voice, the scars on his face, his neck, his collarbones - - your head shoots up from the edge of the tub. Oh my, a light dusting of pink danced over your cheeks at your realization.

     Just in time too, a knock at the door, something timid and respectful, a woman’s voice calls from behind, cooing to you and asking if you needed any, assistance.

     The borderline of breaching your privacy has you tensing up, before relaxing again as you realize the door isn't opening yet.

     You open your mouth to give the woman an answer, your words coming out shy and shaky as you explain you were okay. For tonight anyway. And with it she went, offering only the slightest bit of disappointment in her response to tell you to have a good night.

     Eventually, you pull the newspaper from the chair you had put it on and give it a once through, combing for any activity that could be pertaining to the gang’s disappearance. You hoped at least, the paper wasn't too old, content-wise.

     Your eyes snapped to a column.

               ‘Victim of the shootout in Valentine saloon returns to work,’

     You squint your eyes, not too interested in the soul who was deemed necessary enough to get his own story, but rather why you didn't think to check in at the local watering hole for information instead of wasting your, couple cents, on having to read it. You didn't hate reading, you just figured hearing it was easier than reading about it.

     You glanced around at a couple other articles, nothing catching your eye much, a couple of examples of violence or who was moving where. Or some advertisement about a big wig’s show of power and wealth.

     Looking back to the paragraph about the man who was returning to work having only recovered from his wounds during this so-called shootout, you try and look for details, you probably missed the big stuff, all you had to go off of was the past tense version. You chew at your lip, anxiously trying to decipher what was real and what wasn't. You try and piece together what could have happened, the writer could be making it seem like the ‘attackers’ here were the villains, and were taken care of as to prove some statement about their law enforcement being better than they were.

     A tactic to comfort civilians.

     Your eyes trail off, landing on the domino across the room.

     Who else would have hung up that piece though? You know the gang had to relocate quickly, probably the result of whatever this shootout happened to be. The article made it sound like a catastrophe. But was it exaggerated?

     In the quiet space, you were tucked away in, you hear a loud shout coming from the lobby down the hall. You turn your head towards the direction of the commotion, still muffled by the rickety wooden door. And as the disorder stops, you turn your attention back to the paper. Must have been some angry drunk bullying their way in and stomping up the steps.

     You shrug off the event, folding your newspaper up, and returning to relax back into the tub, actually taking time to rinse off your head, before scrubbing down the rest of your body. The slimy texture from the soap felt so beautiful against your rough skin.

     Then you hear a loud pop past the floorboards above you which has your arm stopping in its cause as you listen more intently. Was someone kicking in doors up there? Was it your door?

     You snap your eyes up to the ceiling, trying to map out the layout of the inn from memory you estimate the probability of the obnoxious guest going through the belongings in your room. Brief panic begins to pound in your gut as you hear the heavy footsteps come rushing through the long hall overhead and down the steps.

     The individual growls out a question to the keeper, the exchange is short, and the footsteps begin to grow louder as they come down your last line of the defense.

     You slink down into the warm water as if the bath would be enough to hide evidence of your existence.

     And before you could pray that whatever was out there causing a ruckus didn't find you, the door is kicked open, making you jump at the swift execution.

     The towering figure is scanning the room, and it's not but a second when the man’s eyes land on you.

     You knew those eyes.

     You quizzed yourself.

      _Arthur’s here?_

     You then bubbled, a smile evident on your face.

      _Arthur’s Here!_

     You somehow managed to stop yourself from practically jumping out of the tub when your excitement twisted into embarrassment with a tinge of dread at the awareness of your situation.

      _Arthur is here!_

     Oh, what terrible timing.

     “Grey.” He grudgingly snarls out, his body language tense like you had seen that night he confronted you.

     As he storms across the seemingly much smaller room, you desperately shimmy your way under the surface of the water, shaking your head as if denying your existence.

     “You!” he growls, the tone something you’d never heard before. You panic for an answer you felt like you needed to give, but you weren't sure what it was. His hand is grabbing you by your bicep, ripping you from the sanctuary of the water.

     You release a yelp, not sure what to expect when you managed to get past the fact your dignity was no longer your main priority.

     “Do you have any idea how worried I've been about-” he had tugged you closer, face to face as he has both his large hands pressed over your bare shoulders. “- you…” his voice trails off as his eyes delve down the length of your exposed skin, from your ear to your neck, then over your chest...

     You wished you had more arms at this point. With one leg out and the other caught on the rim of the tub, you weren't in any position to cover much.

     He’s ripping his hands off of you like your skin had just violently bitten into his fingers. His eyes stutter as he tempts the idea of examining you more, he’s not really sure where to look.

     “Oh, I’m so - s- sorry.” he jitters. He moves to grasp your head so he can focus on looking you in the eye instead, and that only makes it worse, you know the unnerved man knows this too as he’s jumping back and stumbling over a chair. The clatter of the buckles and buttons of your clothes falling to the floor as well as the single domino falling into place seems loud, but not. The only noisy thing in the room was the two heartbeats pounding, very much evident on the faces of you both. Arthur somehow manages to stay on his feet before reeling towards the door that hits him square in the back while trying to find the exit.

     His frantic backpedaling has you hunching down and wrapping your arms over yourself, trying to cover your utterly exposed skin.

     His brows furrow, as he looks up at the ceiling, then at the candles, then flickering to your balled up form and then back at anything but.

     “I ’ll, well, I meant,  I’ll be- I’ll be out here, w- waiting, I think.” his rambling continues, “take your time, of, of course’, didn't mean ta’ interrupt…I think.” his hand is blindly searching for the handle before frantically closing the door.

     You wanted to throw yourself, not sure exactly where, you just wanted to fling off into the distance, away from how now this man has seen everything. Everything!

     Were you supposed to be angry and had kicked him out? Why did you just stand there like an idiot? What if he thinks you’re weird because you didn't yell at him to get out. I mean, how could you have shouted though? You had been wanting to see him, of course not expecting him to have shown up out of the blue just now, you were sure he would understand that your shock had kept you from kicking him out?

     You smack your hands against your face, wanting to hide more than you already were. You tried to think maybe it didn't happen as it did, perhaps, you thought you heard Arthur outside the door, and you just jumped out of the tub, and that's it, that's it! End the play black there.

     The colder temperature of being out of the warmth of the tub has you swinging your head around for a towel. You’re quick to throw it against your body, for a moment hiding under it as you try and get your heart to settle down and stop pounding like a drum in your ears.

     A few moments pass, and you’re drying off just enough to get your clothes back on. After you have them on, your clothes felt much more like sheets, grateful as they do their job and hide your skin. You do a quick walk through making sure you had everything you brought with you, stuffing your belongings in your pockets while you prepare yourself to grasp the handle of the door. Your heart immediately begins to pound again, you try and release a quiet breath to steady yourself before you’re slowly opening the door.

     As you step out into the hallway, you see Arthur sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his hands fidgeting and worrying his hat.

     As his attention falls on you, he's scrambling to his feet and waiting for you at the end of the hall. As you walk into interacting space to him, the two of you wonder how to talk about the elephant that squeezed itself into the small hall you both shared.

     “Sorry about interrupting your, bath. I ain't sure what I was thinking.” He mumbles. All tension from before was gone now it looked as if his embarrassment had tranquilized his fire he had barged in with.

     You couldn't help the mousy smile that tugged at your lip. “You're fine, Arthur.” You moved closer to offer a timid hug, you were glad to see him after all. And when he didn't make a move to turn away, you let yourself wrap your arms around his and give the man a slight squeeze. “You just surprised me! I was gonna start looking for you guys come morning.” You try and act as natural as possible. You feel the man tense up, awkwardly moving his arm around you for a receptive pat along your shoulder blade.

     As you pull away, you see him heavily flushed, looking down at the floor as he is quickly fitting his hat to the top of his head and covering his eyes. With a brief lull coming up you knew Arthur was still very much affected by the breach of privacy he committed. But was there another reason as well?

     You reach into your pockets searching for that Domino piece that was left for you.

     As his eyes catch the small ivory. Reaching forward to accept it from you. “I reckon this is your doing?” You quiz.

     He lets out a snort, “Yeah, figured you'd be able to find it _if_ you came back.” his tone puts emphasis on the word if. You're tilting your head in confusion.

     “What you mean, _if_?”

     He locks eyes with you then. “You left without a word, figured you'd done went off by yourself after Colm, thought I'd never see you again.” His tension from before seems to return, getting back into your space as if he was scolding you, his hands seem to hesitate like he was going to grab you again, but he doesn't. “By yourself you idiot? what were you thinking?” He growls under his breath, something hushed.

     You lift your hands defensively eyes widening as you realize the misunderstanding. “Arthur, I wasn't going after Colm.” You almost smile. His shoulders relax a tinge. “Besides, I didn't leave without telling no one… I told, Uncle.”

     “Uncle?!” He rolls back on the heels of his boots while he shakes his head, “Hell, that's worse than leaving without saying nothin’!”

     You chuckle at this, your laugh seems to bring both of you closer, that teasing tone you both thrived off of was drunk in eagerly.

     So you explain, “Well he was the only one who was up when I was heading out.”

     “You coulda woke me up,” he asks almost as a plea.

     You flick his hat up, so the brim isn't consistently in your way while you admire his eyes, “You barely get enough rest as it is, Arthur. And besides _you_ woulda tried to come with.” he doesn't seem to deny your statement, a downward smirk tugging as he agrees.

     You begin to move around him down the hall to the lobby.

     He follows in suit, “Where did you get off too then?”

     As you round the corner, you notice the innkeeper looks ready to swing at your misunderstood companion, glowering as the both of you take the long way around the lobby and up the stairs. You offer the man a timid wave, silently assuring him that the intimidating figure following behind you was of no threat...to anything besides doors it seemed.

     As you two reach the top, he looks at you expectantly spurring you for an answer.

     “Didn't go nowhere for you to be concerned about, Mr. Morgan.” You admonish, teasing his interest.

     “Grey.” He warns.

     Your playful expression falls as you recognize his serious intent, “I just went out,” you say more with your hands than your pronunciation while you make your way towards your room.

     “Out?”

     “Yeah, you know, like you do every chance you get.” Your words come out more defensive than you intended. “Well, you know, without the gallivanting and what not.”

     “At least I tell someone,” he responds, the two of you stand in the open doorway, you cross your arms as you're staring up at him.

     “I did tell someone.” You repeat, teeth clenched but without anger as you're resting your back against the door frame.

     “Uncle doesn't count. He won't remember a damn thing you tell him until it's to protect his own hide.”

     “Why is it okay for you to go missing days at a time, anyway? Suddenly I do it once, and you make a big deal about it.” You push off from the door frame to drive a finger into the man’s chest, you choose to dismiss the thought about how wonderfully firm his pec is while managing to be just the perfect amount of plush and refocused your attention on your point. “Do you know how many times I waited never knowing if I’d see you again? It was downright painful!”

     His eyebrows raise to you, unmoved by your seemingly featherlight digit that attempted to pin him down. Your mouth goes dry as the silence he offers gives you time to replay what you had said out loud.

     A cold sweat washes over you.

     “Painful?” he inquires.

     You shut your eyes as you retreat in on yourself, you decide to let your honesty spill out, spending all that time by yourself past this past week left you to a lot of thinking. And the topic felt too important to you to let it be pushed under the rug for the sake of pride. You swallow hard with a trembling breath to follow after.

     “Y-eah, It was always terrifying when you would leave, I would never know if you were coming back or not. Not that I doubted your commitment to the gang, I just was scared something terrible would happen to you.” You admit to the man, not meeting the gaze that bore into you that only got heavier the more prolonged the silence rolled.

     Arthur abruptly straightens up and glances down the long hall, someone had been coming up the stairs it seemed, he takes you by the arm gently and guides you into your room while closing the door behind him.

     You stand quietly in the middle of the room, still not looking him in the eyes.

     “I still don't get what you’re sayin’,” he wasn't a stupid man, far from it actually, so you knew his question was laden with something deeper. Your words haven’t found you yet before he’s continuing, “What's that you said to me that night?  Something about not knowing each other that well?” he's closing in on you at this point.

     You look back up, the glow from the flames in the fireplace that had been kindled while you were in the bath was leaving the most astounding color on Arthur’s skin, It made him look like the only thing in the room. Before you can admire the sight further, your brows are furrowing, your own words seemed to be slapping you in the face again.

     “Yeah, I know. You’ve helped me a lot. You've treated me like an equal regardless if you knew me or not. You gave me a chance where others might not have.” The realization that Arthur was going to deny your sincere words has your brows furrow with dissatisfaction. “And Arthur you know what, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. I don't think you understand how important you are to other people.” You boldly explain as he’s leaning back, hand rubbing his neck, ready to deny what you had to say, so you interrupt. “I'm serious, Morgan. You go around to all these people you help; who praise you, labeling you as a good man and you reject what they see, telling them how they are wrong without uttering a liable explanation.” Your words seem to agitate some hidden thorn inside you, and your hands are balling into fists. Your spine juts up as you're leaning into his face, that uncomfortable tension coiling in your muscles.

     “And you know what else? You bend over backward for people who don't even appreciate you as a person!” You don't know why you're pushing on him when you are, you just know you have more to say to him than that, that tension couldn't get itself out of your words enough and your body settled for trying to express it with your hands. Like all that frustration you developed on yourself while you were trying to take his advice was coming out. “Honestly, what do you get out of being Dutch’s right hand? ‘Cause to me it only looks like a pat on the back.” His eyes narrow at your words, allowing you to push on him but resisting stepping back from you. “Have you ever stopped to think about what you wanted? I know there is a man under all of this who knows that this life ain't what he wants. And I don't need to have known you for years to see that either.”

     A moment of pause has you recognizing the man’s silence, unsure of what he was thinking. “I see it every time you talk between Dutch and Hosea. The expression on your face when you have that damn hat off,” you take that moment to rip the hat off his head for emphasis, but mostly because you were working out your frustration attempting to keep it below seething. “The expression on your face when you would take part in activities outside of being an outlaw, and that damn mask you have, I see through it all. I see it everywhere Arthur! So why do you do this to yourself? Always pretending you don't have your own humanity and sentiments, what are you afraid of that keeps you from embracing them? How can you tell me to embrace what it takes to live a life of normalcy when you can't even figure it out yourself?!”

     It was the sad face he gave you that has you snapping from your mild tantrum. His eyes show a labyrinth of emotions.

     Confusion, Sadness, Anger, Bargaining, Denial.

     He shakes his head and stares at the burning logs nearby.

     “I ain’t like that -”

     “Don't lie to me, Arthur. You can lie to yourself but not to me.” It was your turn to snarl it seemed. With your words softening you reach out to feel along his face, fingers against his bristly jaw, “Lying doesn't suit you,” you add. Soon enough you're tugging on his cheek with a pinch at the corner of his lips.

     This seems to snap him out of any negative thoughts as he’s staring back at you with some soporific expression.

     You pat his cheek lightly, frowning at him. “You seem so tired, Arthur." Your statement ladened with a double meaning, "When is the last time you actually slept without worrying about other people? And don't do that thing where you underrate your answer either.”

     He offers you a smug smile, weak, but it was there, and you raised your brows at it. “If I had known I'd be getting a lecture from you when  I found ya, I might have taken the time to sleep before continuin’ to look.” he quips.

     You give him one of those looks as if questioning if he really wanted to stick with that answer, “Exactly, look at you worrying about little ol' me. Besides, how come you get to question me when it suits you, but when I want to challenge you, I require some special license?”

     He scoffs, “Ain’t like that…” he drawls.

     You pat his cheek once more, at some point you both had gotten really close to one another, examining each other's small details in the face, he leans slightly into your palm, like his body was sighing against you. “I know, I'm just giving you a hard time, and you know that.” you gloss.

     That's when his smile fades, and you go rigid when you’re unsure of the cause.

     “I didn't think I’d find you again, honestly. Thought that night I pushed too far on ya. Wasn't sure what to do. Didn't want to talk to you that night, even after that snake Micah had his words in, was afraid I’d be overstepping boundaries. Or, somethin’ like that.”

     The mention of the name has you scowling, and you two seem to have the same thoughts, and almost in unison you speak out first, “That rat bastard.”

     “Real scum of the earth.”

     The two of you share a knowing laugh.

     “Hey,” his eyes look to yours when you speak up, “Why don't you take tonight to rest up?” asking virtuously. He stands up straight at this, contemplating what the question held.

     “I ain't so sure that’s-”

     “Arthur Morgan.” You interrupt with a sigh and gesturing around the room, “You mean to tell me, I've just wasted good money on this room and you ain't even gonna let me use it?”

     “Well.” he almost gasps.

     “Go on then, get comfortable, But! You do gotta tell me about what y'all had been up to while I was away,” he doesn't move, and so you’re ushering him, “go take a bath too while you’re at it, when's the last time you had one of those?”

     He hesitates, giving you this worried and questioning look. “But, I just got here.”

     “Well, yeah exactly.”

     He stares long again.

     “I ain't gonna run off on you if that's what you're worried about. What sorta heartless outlaw you take me for?”

     He scoffs again, “Heartless Outlaw? You don't know the first thing about robbing people,” the look you give him has him forfeiting “Alright, alright, I'll be back.” He waves his hand between you two as he's turning for the door.

     “Oh! And Arthur.” he stops before closing the door behind him, glancing between the sliver. “Might wanna barricade your door while you're in there, who knows who might come barging in on you.”

     Arthur's face flushes slightly before he's giving you the best stern expression he can before slamming the door in response.

     As you hear him make his way down the steps, you take a moment to contemplate if you should give into your playful thoughts, imagining his response if you barged in just to make things even. On second thought, the man might call your bluff, wouldn't he? Maybe next time when he's really not expecting it.

     Left to yourself, you decide to take your own advice and get comfortable. Hanging Arthur's hat on the bedpost, and moving to remove your hastily thrown on boots and setting them aside before sitting back on the bed.

     You look around at the silence, a sigh breaking it as you throw yourself back against the bed. Taking a moment to recap everything that had happened already.

     You had gone from expecting to never see him again to seeing him and giving him the most revealing show.

     You cover your hot face with your hands. Were you wrong to be thinking the man wasn't repulsed?

     That thought has a spark of ebullient energy jumping in your chest which you use to bounce further up the bed taking the inside against the wall. As the wall hits your back, you have a moment of pause. The bed was plush and expansive, you could sprawl out all over this thing if you wanted to. Your heart begins to speed up, processing what would happen when Arthur comes back in, was he going to get his own room? I guess you never specified that, did you?

     It would be fine you were sure, after all, it didn't mean nothing to share the same sleeping space did it? Just a couple of people from the same gang in the same place sharing the same bed. Arthur would think of it as something normal too, right? I mean what reason was there to make it anything other than.

 

 

     You weren't sure how long you laid there with your back to the wall and your body cradled by something softer than the ground you had slept on for who knows how long. It was like a months worth of tension was being whisked out from you in a way the warm bath from earlier couldn't. 

     Your mind would imagine where the gang had ended up, if Arthur was alive you were positive everyone else was too. You were also very curious as to their need to leave, you knew they were outlaws of course, so the concept that maybe they were discovered by the law didn't seem too far fetched. But they were so careful about their location, everyone there loved each other like their own blood. Aside from Micha you were sure.

     Negative thoughts begin to plague you, contemplating what sort of things might have been said about your disappearance if Uncle didn't tell anyone about your hiatus. Would Dutch accept you back? What about everyone else? Were they ready to write you off too? Relationships had been tense from the get-go anyway, you couldn't imagine what it would be like now if you were even allowed back in.

     As you stare up at the ceiling with your thoughts scrambling to and from all sorts of topics, you only hear the heavy set of steps tracking up the hall in time to anticipate the door opening. There's a subtle knock before the pop from the door has your ears tweaking with your full attention.

     Arthur hesitantly leans into the room still hidden behind the door, before his eyes land on you and realizing you were decent. He must have been waiting for you to tell him otherwise.

     As he steps into the room a dark chocolate colored saddle in his hand and against his side with your ruined duster over the seat.

     You sit up to get a better look at him. His hair was still noticeably wet judging by the way the light reflected off of it's slicked back style. No doubt much easier to keep out of his face.

     As he shuts the door behind him, he sets down his saddle on the same end post as you had earlier, observing him step away like you had before makes you fight the giggle bubbling up in your chest. Your attention is snared when he's lifting up your duster from off the seat of his saddle and holding it up in front of you.

     “I reckon this is yours?” He asks more so already knowing the answer, and as you give him an appreciative noise and move to take it off of his hands, he drops some of the fabric and on full display to you the seared clothing stares at you mockingly

     Your eye twitches as you prepare for the scolding you'll be receiving.

     “I also reckon this was your doing?” He assumes with the smile in his voice being heard more than seen. You look him in the eye and he's just itching for you to figure your way out of this one.

     So you snatch it from him, “That!” You begin to fold it up, “is none of your business!” You defend, turning your head up and away already prepared to give him no satisfaction.

     He lets out a laugh, your response alone seems to be satisfying enough. He makes his way to the chair across the room and begins removing his shoes.

“So what was it? Molotov? Failed Molotov?” You give him the best, bored look you can. “Oh no, no you know what?” He gets up and makes his way over to you, reaching his hand forward to get a better look at the scorch. You already knew the man examined it enough he didn't need to get another look. You slap his hand away which he only chuckles some more before continuing, “That looks like someone sat in their campfire.”

     “Don't you worry about what I do in my free time.” You bicker.

     He's sitting at the end of the bed, rolling his head over so that his eyes stare you down over his shoulder.

     “You sit on campfires during your free time?” he jests.

     “It was an accident!” You bark.

     “Good God, Grey. I'm shocked you managed to keep yourself alive this long.”

     “I ain't that graceless! Just, well it was the one time I wasn't payin’ attention.”

     He rolls his head away at this, shaking with disbelief, “Ain't even something you gotta keep your eye on, campfires don't move, Grey. What sorta campfires you makin’?”

     Your leg juts out for a swift kick to his hip.

     His laughter rings out, something contagious and eventually pulls a string of your own laughter from your clenched lips. Staying mad was hard.

     “Then it's a good thing ya found me when ya did, I'd have to have found you and punished ya for draggin' your feet n' lettin' me turn all into charcoal and what not.”

     “Punished?” His gaze snaps back to you, clearly no matter how hard he tried he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. “I'm not too sure you know how this works.”

     “Oh really? Enlighten me then gunslinger. Does it involve a lot of shootin’ from the hip?” he grabs your ankle and tosses it aside in response. He lays down next to you, the both of you a reasonable distance away before he places the small ivory from before between you both, that radiant smile still sitting heavily on his face.

     “More like; you don't do stupid shit, and I don't punish _you._ ”

     “You do stupid shit all the time, Arthur.” You retort.

     A chuckle leaves him, “well, I'm allowed to do stupid shit.”

     “What you got a badge or somethin’ for it? Certified idiot engravement?”

     His words never seem to lose that giddy undertone, “somethin’ like that.” his finger taps the ivory, nothing anxious, but rather lazy and calm.

     Your eyes are drawn to the motion in the lull. “Why'd you pick the domino by the way?” You ask.

     The way he laid on his side, head propped up by his hand, it was something distracting. Every time you would get the aroma of soap wafting into the already small space between you, you had to rip your eyes away from drinking him in as eagerly as it was intended.

     “Figured you might know something about Morse code.” Your brow raised at this, “one dot means E. Thought you might put two and two together and assume we headed east.”

     You let out a soft breath of air, something just short of a scoff. “I don't know a damn thing.”

     “What were you planning to do then?”

     You look back up at him, “Well I started with reading the newspaper. Wondered if I'd get any clues or any big events that could have happened to make y'all up and leave.” He only listens, “and then if I got a good idea about what happened I, well…” you trail off with a frown coming to your face.

     His hand reaches out under your chin and swiping your gaze back up, “You wouldn't have been gone for too long don't worry about that.”

     “I'm not really too sure where I could have started. I probably would have gotten turned around somewhere.” Your voice cracks as that deep aching in your chest you had almost forgotten about comes to the front of your attention.

     He lets out a low chuckle, his words lowering a notch, “Like I said, you wouldn't have been gone long, I've got quite the sense when it comes to hunting people down, Grey.”

     His words have your curiosity spiking, “How _did_ you find me anyways?”

     His lip twitches up, “well it wasn't hard after you came back to what was left of the Overlook. Saw that the domino was gone, and then I just started thinking about what you would have thought to do. And that led me to Valentine.”

     “Didn't you want me to know to go east? Morse was it?”

     “Yeah, I did, but I was crossing off other possibilities first, in case you didn't, or you were going to take your time…” he pointedly squints, nudging you in the shoulder. The two of you smile to one another. “And sure enough, just as I turned the corner down that muddy stretch, that horse you pride over so much gave you away.”

     “You know I’ve been workin’ on ‘em, he’s been better.” You look down to fidget with the blanket you both laid on top of, “I think so at least.”

     “Maybe on our way back you can give me a demonstration.” You don't need to look up at him to know his eyes have yet to leave your face. Still, his words seemed sincere.

     A smile forms on your lips feeling genuine excitement has you as you can't wait to show off the hard work you and Ace had put in. Then you think about the obstacles you could manage and maybe the race you could challenge Arthur to, a blissful sigh leaves you, so much to look forward to. When he’s leaning down closer to you your eyes are quick to snap to him again.

     He smiles at you, “You look tired, why not get some sleep?”

     Your face begins to heat up, your tongue darts out to wet your nervous lips. “But, you just got here.”

     To which earns you a laugh. “And what did you tell me earlier when I told you that same thing?”

     You duck your head, and repeat yourself, “...exactly.”

     As he lets out a pronounced hum from the back of his throat before he's sitting up from the bed, and lifting the covers. “We’ll be able to talk the whole way back ta' camp tomorrow, for now, I think we both could use some sleep, huh?” he ushers you to get up by flicking the blanket up and down until you get up enough to slide under them.

     Offering just the slightest bit of reluctance, you find yourself turning over, and facing the wall. You can feel Arthur get back into his place again, but you don't turn over to watch.

     The slight twitch to your grin has a tease leaving you, “Don't go hoggin' the blankets either, Arthur.”

     To which he dismisses your warning completely, taunting you with the playful tug of the blanket, “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” his jest comes out heavy as he fakes a threatening accent.  

     You offer him a soft chuckle, “Goodnight, Arthur.”

     “Night,” he responds back, his voice tickles your ears spurring you to snuggle up into yourself some.

 

 

     And during the first few minutes, it seemed outrageous to still be awake, always feeling like you were breathing too loud, and you felt too self-conscious to relax. You couldn’t tell if the man was sleeping or not. Every so often one of you would shift to get comfortable, and you'd assume you weren't waking him up, but instead, it seemed he couldn't sleep either. As you tried to focus on methods that would typically get you to sleep, you found your mind drifting, and playing in daydreams.

     Eventually, you found yourself in a state of equilibrium that made your whole body numb, but you were still subconsciously aware you were not wholly asleep somewhere. And luckily you were able to lull yourself back into that seductive temptress that was sleep whenever you'd be awakened from it. And due to the warm presence just behind you, you never did reach complete unconsciousness. You found you couldn't have been frustrated even if you wanted to, you enjoyed the man too much to be bothered by him, even at the beginning of his slight snoring, no doubt the product of one too many clips to the nose. You relished in it.

     And somewhere in the middle of your dreams did you register yourself acting on your desires.

     Feeling his warmth wrap around your smaller frame had you rubbing your face against the nook of his neck. It smelt just like the idea of him, you weren’t repressed by the subtle undertones of what just him smelt like, your nose could only appreciate the fragrance. You found comfort in it with every breath.

     With the arm that draped around your side holding you close and resting lazily over you, you had a strong sense of belonging, feeling so immensely that you were welcomed and accepted. It made you want to bury yourself against Arthur more, be just his.

     You languidly rubbed your cheek against his, and before you knew you needed it, your noses brushed to one another and mouths found themselves dancing along the other.

     There was nothing rushed about it, quite the opposite, in fact, something soft and delicate. You could do this forever if not for the soothing hand along your back easing your subconscious back into a state that was overcome with drowse. You were content, to say the least, and you let the man encourage you to lay down more, parting from your lips only to tiredly plant soft kisses along the length from your cheek to your neck. As you felt him rest the bridge of his nose against your throat, the stillness was quick to whisk you away, your mind eagerly lifting you to other sights and scenes.

     You haven't slept near as well as you had before in your whole life as you did tonight.


	7. Blood In The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think back to the dream you had just hours ago, surely it was just a dream right? How come it felt as real as the contact right now? With the way the taller man's eyes darkened, you were unsure if your eyes were being fooled by the tempting feelings that were beginning to bounce uncontrollably inside your chest. You can't help as your tongue is reaching out to caress your lip, something anxious perhaps? You tried to be mindful of your situation, the reason you were overreacting to this man's touch was merely that you had been adrenaline crazed just moments earlier.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

Rolling over to your other side, you can't help but crack an eye open, finding the space next to you empty has you staring just a bit longer as you processed what exactly had happened during your slumber. The sun was already up, you could tell by the white glow that stretched down the middle of your grey environment. Your eyes squint and blink, struggling to stay open as they trail to the source.

In the corner of the room, you see a pleasant sight. Arthur relaxed back in the chair with his journal in his lap, scribbling away, you thought it was endearing watching the man who had seen so much wrong that the world had to offer and still, he seemed sane enough to write what you could only assume to be his thoughts. You hoped one day be lucky enough to read upon them.

“Every time I look over at you, you’re nose deep in that journal.” Your comment is hoarse and heavy with sleep. He is quiet as he looks up from his journal and seems to watch you for some time.

“And every time I look over at you, you’re drooling away on your pillow,” he replies, something soft in his teasing tone.

His words grant you a smile, you stretch up and out feeling that intoxicating sensation of your blood rising before you're defending your case, “Mm, best moments in this life...why you up so early anyway?” you ask.

He smirks, and looks out the window at the sun that bore down above, “It’s noon already, what you mean, ‘early?’” He lets out a low chuckle, “Besides, we can’t stay away from camp too long…” he adds.

Being reminded of your conversation from last night has a frown falling on your face, “Who's the dog now?” you bitterly retort, resting your head on your hand as you laid sprawled out.

The clap of Arthur’s journal being snapped shut has you raising a brow, watching the man as he stands from his seat and makes his way over to you while stuffing the book away. He looms over you a moment before he's grabbing your legs and dragging you towards the edge of the bed. And before you can protest and decipher what he’s doing his hands are at your sides, viciously attacking you and forcefully dragging involuntary laughter from your gut.

You’re quick to plead to the man to stop between the scarce breaths of air you can manage, you squirm trying to get away, you begin to thrash and kick so pathetically on the bed, and all the man does is continue his assault.

As your laughter morphs from giggles to pained wheezing he lets up, and pats your thigh while he helps himself off the bed, “Come on, let’s get goin’ then.”

While recovering from the onslaught of tickles, you wipe the tears that developed from the lids of your eyes, offering only a groan to the man as he’s picking up his saddle and heading out the door.

Laying there a moment to collect yourself, you try and work up the drive to follow his lead, you weren't particularly eager to get back to camp. Being excited to see the familiar faces had you sitting up and finding your boots. It was when you started thinking about the not so friendly faces, you could start counting them, but, you'd be there all afternoon. Simply put, the bad outweighed the good, there was one interval however that made everything seem worth it, and it walked out the door without you.

Now that got you hustling to catch up.

 

 

With all your belongings packed you muscle up your saddle and head out to the front of the inn. While you pass through the building, you offer the Innkeeper your thanks, to which he is quick to make sure you know that you’re always welcome back, telling you to maybe leave behind your bullheaded companion. Not a chance.

As you make it outside, it is of no surprise to you to see Arthur already on his horse, giving you a knowing look.

You roll your eyes at him as you prepare to tack up Ace. “I’m movin’, I’m movin’,” you assure.

A toothy grin takes his face as he's snickering through his words, “So, Grey, you gonna tell me why you left?” The way he’s looking down at you from his horse makes his words seem more condescending than they actually were.

The weight of the saddle has your words straining while you’re trying to lift it onto Ace’s back, “Wanted to try out your advice, though I figured I could manage it by myself, but, well….” Trailing off while succumbing to the thoughts that plagued your mind, you busied yourself with making sure the girth was as it should be amongst other things of course. Before lifting yourself up into your saddle, you do one more check through, not wanting to give Arthur any ammunition to tease you with.

“You gonna try it again?” the way he asks has you unsure of what exactly he’s asking about, but you assume and continue with the topic.

“Probably not, I only seemed to bet madder,” you’re guiding Ace towards your companion who was already heading out, “Speaking of being angry, what had you so irate when you interrupted my bath?”

Your question has the man quick to turn his eyes forward and if the slight trembling in his voice was anything to go by you reckoned he was reliving that indefensible moment.

“Wasn’t angry,” his shoulders soften as he contemplates with himself, “or maybe I was, all I know, I’d been lookin’ for you for some time, and when you up and left without sayin’ anythin’- - well probably best we don't talk about the things that were goin’ through my mind.”

“But I did tell someone…”

“....Yeah, cougars and panthers, what’s it really matter?” The quip brings a smile to your face, but your defense still stood, and with a hmph past your lips, the two of you are making your way out of town. Heading along the road that ran along the train tracks.

 

 

Before long you two are in your comfortable silence again, Arthur was busy looking about, doing what he usually did that got him into or out of trouble. You weren't quite sure what to call it if not luck.

“What had you lookin’ so guilty and nervous when I found you in Valintine?” he suddenly breaks the quiet, you were more caught off guard by the question than the execution.

You think on it a moment, “You mean why did I look so nervous when someone barged in on my very unclothed and vulnerable bath?” you mostly tease, but curious as to how he would answer your question.

“You know what I mean…” he drawls, doing his best not to become flustered before his eyes are off scanning the woodline.

With a sigh, you admit yourself to honesty, “Well, if I'm frank, I was delighted to see you, just, I was afraid how I would tell you I hadn't succeeded. Not to mention how I was afraid you would blame me for whatever it was that sent ya’ll packing. And besides are you even aware of how intimidating you are even before you open your mouth?”

He listens, before he’s thinking on your question, a carefree shrug leaves him with his words, “Perhaps not.”

“Yeah, is what I thought, it’s cause you ain’t been on the receiving end!” you jest, which has him turning back to face you as a slight grin on his face was beginning to form.

“You can get pretty fierce yourself ya’know?”

His response has you baiting him, “Only when it's important.”

“‘Course,” his word coming out laced with a ripple of some soft laugh, you can practically hear his eyes rolling from the few paces back that you were.

“When you gonna tell me what you’ve been up to when I was gone? You didn't get around to it back at the inn.”

This seems to make his body sigh, “Been hectic, but it’s calming down some. Dutch, I fear he has already got some grand scheme; to play… was it two or three…?” he asks himself as he’s trailing off into his thoughts.

“‘Two or three,’ already sounds like a handful.”

“You know, Dutch, but, it was somethin’ about a family feud, been going on for generations? I don't know, been more concerned about getting you back. Hadn’t taken time to sit down and fully understand.” His body jerks away like he just remembered he had left the water running, it would have been comical if you weren’t concerned about what had him so tense all of a sudden.

“This way,” he says, gesturing off the trail. His horse is sure-footed as it begins to step down the hill, minding itself as it carries the confident man through the woods. Ace was another story, however, hesitation with every uneven surface, the stallion was quick to find more natural ways around uneven surfaces, but, regardless, you kept your back straight and kept up the pressure when it was needed.

You weren’t sure where you two were going, but, you also figured maybe that was a good thing, the camp could be away from prying eyes. And the father you two traveled into the wilderness of unfamiliar territory, you wondered if you'd even be able to remember your way through.

“What made ya’ll get tangled up in something so complicated soundin’?” you ask.

“Wasn’t long after you left, finished helpin’ John with rustlin’ some sheep, then, turns out...we’ve been stealin’ from a man who has plenty to go around, but he ain't too kind on sharin’ none of it,”

“You mean like some big city wig?”

“Leviticus Cornwall.” The name comes out of Arthur’s mouth like some filth clung to his tongue.

You mumble mostly to yourself, “only heard that name in passin’.”

“Mm, he wanted Dutch's head, no surprise there. It was the fact the man practically had an army with 'em that surprised me. Held Marston and Leopold up at gunpoint outside the saloon.”

Your body tenses at his words, “But you got out of there?”

“Hm?”

“Everyone’s alive?” you ask eagerly while holding your breath somewhere in your lungs.

“Strauss took a bullet in the leg, but he’s fine, everyone else is fine too, but…”

“But what?”

“I can tell tensions are high.”

This new faucet of information was getting harder to digest, “Tensions?” you beg to clarify.

Arthur only continues to ride in his seat looking relaxed like a heavy bag of potatoes, his eyes remained trained forward as he navigated almost expertly through. “Yeah, doubtful is probably a better word to use. Doubtful of our place in this world, maybe it’s just me though. No need to go bringin' it up to the others.”

What he says has your blood running cold, it was a terrifying topic, wasn’t it?

Through the lull, you manage to come up with the words he may have been needing to hear, “Arthur, if there’s anyone who knows what to do, it's you.”

A scoff leaves him before he seems to think to himself a moment, “Wish you weren’t the only one to see that,” he adds softly.

You’re at a loss of words for this one, “In time, maybe,”

“I don't know.”

“Worse case, me and you go out, and we end up being hunted by some big cat.”

“No,” he retorts rather quickly, “worse case me and you are out, period.”

“What you mean by that?”

He laughs at your offended tone, “I mean, I think I could have deadlier creatures successfully watching my back and do a decent job.”

“Cut it out, Morgan!” your voice was almost shrill, “I’m not that incompetent! Besides, when you gonna actually let me go with you so I can be better if you think I'm so terrible?”

“Never.” he shakes his head very insistently, “Ain’t gonna let that happen.” he almost laughs.

You begin to growl, “Arthur!”

He’s sitting back in his seat, and his binoculars are being pulled from his satchel as his horse comes to a stop. “Look at that, I do believe it’s just down the hill and over the bank here.”

You decide to let him win with his change in subject, shaking your head as you look beyond.

The two of you stood at the woods edge and looked over the water, “Is this FlatIron Lake?”

He seems to have had his attention elsewhere as he’s stuttering to answer, “Yeah, part of it at least.”

“I could be going blind, Arthur, I don't see the camp anywhere,” you admit quietly.

Arthur throws his leg over and is dismounting from his horse, “Oh we ain’t there yet, I’ve just been meaning to check this place out for awhile.”

“You mean that angler shack down there?” as you watch the man hike further down the hill on foot, you shake your head but follow after him already knowing your next few words weren’t going to stop him, “We ain’t gonna find a damn thing in there.”

“Well, we're gonna find out ain't we?” his voice drops a couple levels, almost at a whisper as he’s gesturing you to follow after him.

Through your own hushed tone you continue, “Arthur, if fishermen were known for being rich you’d have put down your guns for a fishin’ pole a long time ago.” to which the man scoffs.

As you watch the man secure his hat and crouch down, he approaches the small shack with a deft pace. With the sun already threatening to set there wasn't need for candlelight, so the shed looked empty and cold. Besides, what fisherman would be inside at that hour if not coming home. You still couldn’t shake that hair-raising sensation like there were eyes on you. You didn't see anyone peering at the two of you upon your approach. Maybe you were suddenly so self-conscious about not messing up in front of this man that all your nerves stood on end.

Arthur straightens himself against the side of the shack, slowly peeking in through the high windows, he stills for a moment, eyes busy as they evaluate the situation inside. And when he doesn't move to jerk away out of sight of any particular thing, you’re quick to believe it was empty.

He crouches down low to you again, ushering you to follow behind.

The two of you creep onto the deck, soon straddling the front door, he grabs your attention with his hand pointing to you and then back to his eyes before swiftly jabbing the two digits in the direction towards inside the building. And as you begin to go through with what he was asking of you pressing your hand against the door, he’s quick to trap your wrist, grabbing your eyes again as he’s shushing you silently with the same finger.

You give him an expressionless face, you weren't sure if he was mocking you or not at that moment, but you remained quiet, watching as he turned around and moved along the outside of the house, you suspected he knew of some other entrance?

Turning your attention to your task, you quietly make your way inside, your footsteps leaving nothing to be identified besides the sand you brought in from under them. As you realize the compact layout was utterly lacking in life aside from the large fish that were mounted along the wall, you straighten yourself up, getting a better view around the room. You track around the couch at the center, with your eyes trailing over the massive fins and gills that surrounded you. Scales everywhere it seemed.

You gently, and somewhat curiously press your fingers against one of the great basses that would remain forever captured. You’d never seen one so yellow, let alone massive.

Thankfully you have the sense to drag your focus back to your task, eyes trailing along the wooden workbench that was littered with a variety of sewing materials and tools. Just then your curiosity is viciously repurposed.

There you stood, your mind was racing to keep up with what your eyes were seeing, your hands reached out to the opened can of fruit on the flat surface, it had just been opened, the teeth that formed along the metal were still fresh, the contents inside only half eaten. The spine-chilling realization has your eyes scanning the rest of the countertop, sausage cut, bread shaven, and cheese sliced, all fresh with the recent butchering of a knife, a knife that was nowhere counted for. It simply was not there.

As your spine straightens out, your ears pick up the creek of the wood under you. Or did you? You wait for the next one, anticipating footsteps to be creeping behind you. The shudder that leaves your spine has you thickly swallowing.

The seemingly heavy tread of footsteps matches your pounding heartbeat. That sensation as if you were being chased has you jerking to turn around.

The force that rams into the bridge of your shoulder blades have you emitting a startled yelp, something massive and angry was pushing you forward. With your chest clenching so painfully tight, you were unable to find your breath as your legs strained to hold up the unwelcomed impact.

You rip your shoulders back and forth trying to shake the arms that were around you, smothering you, your arm finds a release as it’s snaking back almost expertly to where the sheath to your knife would be. You blindly grasp onto it as if it determined whether you'd live or die.

You barely register the growl that rips from your attacker's throat before you’re pushing off the workbench, heaving yourself backward and up. The death grip around you seems to hang on rather well. This was the strength of someone with experience. Nonetheless, the man’s balance is strewed, he rocks back, and with a jarring jut, both of you are thrown into the ground as the man’s spine skids off the corner of the wall.

As you lay on your back, panic falls on your face as you realize the weapon in your hand was not melee but instead fitted with a gaudy trigger guard. This wasn't yours. The man is already getting up and storming towards you, unknowing to the weapon you held. You extend your arms, elbows locked tight as if you were trying to keep the man away from you with your extension. Pulling back on the hammer your finger viciously finds the trigger, shutting your eyes you squeeze sharply.

The violent punch to your chest has the sharp cry that jumps from your throat being drowned out by the ear-splitting crack that only rings deafeningly louder in the small space of the once quiet lakeside residence. The kickback from the gun thrashed your bones and rattled you something fierce. As you open your eyes sheepishly, you’re startled, seeing the heavy built frame looking over you and falling fast. The wind is knocked out of you as your two bodies collide, panic was eating you alive now.

Tears of frustration and adrenaline reaching un-manageable levels are threatening to paint your cheeks. You begin to thrash under the body, fretfully trying to push the man off, the fear that had its teeth long embedded into you from the start was leaving your body torpid. And so you still. Body; tense as you wait for anything other than the discomfort of being smothered forced upon you.

You’re greeted with silence.

The sensation of something warm pools against your neck, trickling off as it spills across your skin. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the realization of what exactly that is.

Rushed footsteps approach you, your vision trained on the ceiling above when a familiar voice lets out a snarl, ripping the corpse from over the top of you. The gunslinger's expression looking frantic as he searches for your eyes.

“Grey? You alright?” he asks fearfully, shaking your shoulder firmly, lifting you up against his legs as he kneels next to you. His eyes widen at the crimson along your neck, something choked sounding leaves him as he's gingerly lifting his fingers to your throat.

And all at once the very idea of that adrenaline polluted event is soothed from you with his gentle caress.

“Not mine,” you croak, your nerves barely holding together as you try and reign in your composure.

His shoulders slump, at your response. “You're alright,” he mutters, sounding more like a question that he was telling you to be.

As you trust yourself into his support you feel the sharp ache ripple through your chest, the combination of the gun’s kickback on your tight and unyielding body mixed with the overwhelming crumble from the wall you kept trying to rebuild on your composure.

The whine that rips through you has that worried expression on the welcomed man's face morphing into anger.

“What's wrong, Grey what happened?” He asks, the man having gravitated closer.

“My chest,” you grit out half wheezing, “shit it hurts; my arm, I think something happened to my arm.” Your voice cracks and trembles half unhinged.

He looks you over, using his free hand to swat your other arm that cradled you away. His touch is gentle as he takes up your hand, slowly stretching it outwards. You can feel his breath along the bare skin of your neck while he examines your arms range of motion; however, any excitement you feel from it is overridden from the discomfort you felt.

It wasn't painful to move it so to speak, but whatever you did wrong had you feeling like you took a kick from a horse right into the bend of your elbow.

You hiss as your elbow pops, some trapped bubbles stirred from the commotion leaving the joint.

“I think you're gonna be alright, what happened?”

You lean on him more, his warmth inviting you closer it seemed. The two of you look on at the unmoving corpse.

“Who is it?” You ask sheepishly, not really wanting to know the answer. You were almost afraid to look as you fail to register you were asked a question.

“Hell, I ain't sure,” he adds with a glance between you and the room surrounding you.

“He was a strong bastard,”

“I thought you took a bullet through your throat, Grey, God, he bled all over you.” The two of you look across your chest, he wasn't wrong.

“Who was it?” You ask again. Arthur is moving to lift you to your feet, his arms wrapping around your chest from behind. He lets you trust your weight against him as you find your footing, knee-buckling from the aftershock.

“Relax, Grey, he ain't gonna get ya’ no more.” He assures. This only has you tensing more. What if the man was innocent? You could have just killed an honest man who was protecting his home.

“Was there anyone else in the house?” You quiz, almost too terrified to hear the answer.

Arthur shakes his head, “didn't see a soul.” he rubs your back before bending down to pick something up. Your eyes are too locked on the body to be drawn away. “This yours?”

Your eyes flick to the dark metal, flinching almost at the thought of such a heavy hammer jarring your bones again.

“N-no, I think I accidentally snagged his…?”

The two of you look over to the corpse again with silence. Both of you seem to share the same thoughts. Arthur is quicker to act on them it seemed. The man walks over and begins to search the body, he has this confused expression on his face before he stands up and leans into the small bedroom nearby.

You slowly creep forward with shaky legs, to get a better look at the man you had just killed. Grimacing at such a horrid sight, your stomach turns unsure if you actually wanted to know who it was.

“Looks like one of those Pinkerton fellas,” Arthur explains, coming back into the room with you and guiding you over to the stool that was near the workbench. You gladly take a moment to sit.

“Pinkerton?”

“Ran into one of ‘em when I was fishing with Jack, they’re some sort of, detective agency, meaner than we are I think.”

You’re ready to jump from your seat, “Are there more of them?”

“Yeah,” He begins before taking one look at you then down at the body and giving it a more than subtle kick to the side, “which is why I have no idea why there’s just one here, they don't normally hunt alone.”

“What makes you think he’s a Pinkerton? What if he was some honest fisherman who just-”

“Grey,” Arthur warns, “Don’t start thinkin’ that way; besides, I don't believe Fisherman go around wearing suits and carrying Volcanic pistols around with them in their day to day,” he explains, promptly handing you the pistol. The metal was much more substantial than the standard guns you used to borrow from unfortunate souls.

Arthur seems to notice this hesitation, “You don't gotta be afraid of it, it ain't too different from the other ones you've fired before.”

Your tongue wants to disagree, and your head is already shaking no. This brings a frown to his face, he pulls a rag from his satchel and ushers you to follow him outside. Which you do as you awkwardly fit the clunky thing into your holster, you’d have to find a place for your knife it seemed, but for now, your satchel would do.

Stepping foot on the wooden pier, the fresh air seems to sap your lungs. You're plagued with an overwhelming sensation that has you gasping. Before you can lean over too much in your choked gasps, Arthur approaches you, pressing a hand to your shoulder and trying to pull you up.

“Sit up straight, it'll help you breathe better. I promise,” and so you do, following your companion's direction, at some point during your heaving the man had taken the rag and dipped it into the water of the lake nearby.

His eyes look over your chest before moving to remove the crimson ooze that covered your throat. At some point in your need for direction, you stared into his eyes, watching as they focused on your skin. Eventually, your constant staring catches his attention, with his hand still moving the cloth languidly across the span of your skin the two of you are unable to pull away.

You think back to the dream you had just hours ago, surely it was just a dream right? How come it felt as real as the contact right now? With the way the taller man's eyes darkened, you were unsure if your eyes were being fooled by the tempting feelings that were beginning to bounce uncontrollably inside your chest. You can't help as your tongue is reaching out to caress your lip, something anxious perhaps? You tried to be mindful of your situation, the reason you were overreacting to this man's touch was merely that you had been adrenaline crazed just moments earlier.

You don't even realize the two of you were as close as you were, noses brushing together, the contact was something unsure and full of questions. With the remaining light outside it made the man glow, much different from the dream. Being able to see each other so clearly, maybe this is what had the both of you so timid.

His warm hand has drifted around the back of your neck while cradling your head. From the way his touch quivered you couldn't tell if it was rage or fear he was feeling. As he rested his head against yours pain weighed on his brow, eyes were shut tight before opening softly into something sorrowful.

“What is it, Arthur?” You ask softly.

With your words he seems to tear himself away, “nothing,” he responds standoffish as he's reaching the rag into the water and rinsing out the blood.

A forlorn expression takes hold as your skin that was touched by his falls cold. "Is there a reason you don't want to tell me?" You didn't want to pry, but to see the man do a complete one-eighty the way he did was cause for concern. 

He's quiet for a moment, processing his own thoughts as they come to answer you. Eventually breaking the silence he opens his mouth, "Sorry," Your brow twitches at his tone, "I didn't see anyone in there, and then I checked the bedroom on the other side, didn't see anyone in there either, and - "

"Whoa, Arthur," you try and assure him with a gentle laugh while waving your hands at him to slow him down. The jittery ripple through your words are the betraying factors here. "Everything's fine if that man really was a Picker- Pinkton-?..." you trail off trying to find different words to fit the description of what sounded familiar. 

Arthur's cold stare peers up at you from under the brim of his hat, it seemed your humor was not enough to ease his level of tension. Your blood ran cold at the thought and practically paralyzed your conquest. Had you stumbled on a nerve of his? Something much more profound than mere propriety? It was glaring daggers at you yet you were so blinded by the blades you were unable to see what was the real cause of his defensiveness. So you kept quiet, holding your breath. 

The man is standing up, walking to you as he rings out the cloth, ridding the material of all water. He stops and continues to fold it up and away into his satchel, "I think it's time we made it back to camp." he declares. With the cold glint in his eyes, he makes his way back into the house and judging by what is heard you suspect the man was doing a once over for anything forgotten or missed. 

You found yourself hesitant to enter the house; from the unwelcoming corpse and frigid atmosphere Arthur was giving off you found it better to wait outside. 

Whistling for Ace, you're not waiting long before the stallion comes lunging through, head tossing and everything like the crazy he is. You settle him down, taking the time you had to brush at the dust that had accumulated on the ride over. The soothing act should have had you feeling more relaxed, so why did the unease in your chest bounce around so violently? Being in such an open space had your body feeling like you were the victim of someone's study. 

You try not to make it evident as your eyes are bouncing around possible hiding places, paranoid at the idea that there could be someone watching, and if your earlier feeling was anything to go on, what was that person waiting for?

A sharp sound tickles your attention, Arthur hailing his horse as he's stepping out of the stale shack has caught your eyes. However, you couldn't shake that spine-tingling feeling. Do you tell him about it? No, you figure it's probably an aftershock from your tussle earlier. 

He gives you but one glance as he's mounting up into the saddle, you join him, catching up to his pace and following behind him. The two of you make your way back up the bank and into the woods from which he navigated you through. 

In the back of your mind you're busy fretting about how quiet it is, how it usually would be comfortable and relaxed, but now, it was something ill-disposed, and it made you unsure of how to open your mouth. 

Whereas at the surface that unease you felt was morphing into feeling chased by something in the dark. You wanted to pick up the pace and sprint forward or move sideways and spin your head around like some prairie dog.

The glint of metal and that breath-stealing sound of a hammer being locked back has your attention on Arthur as the man is stock still with his arm extended and that yang pistol you've never seen him use before firmly aimed down at the base of a tree.

It takes you a moment to understand exactly what he's doing, but as he opens his mouth to speak everything becomes all too clear. 

"Excuse us, ma'am." he drones, "Lookin' for someone?" 

As you approach closer, you make the startling discovery of a woman sitting at the base of a tree with a rifle clutched to her chest. She was too busy staring down the end of Arthur's loaded gun to consider you. But with the one glance, you do receive from her burning eyes, you get the feeling you and Arthur were the least of her worries at that moment. It gave you the impression like you were watching a snake, coil tight before it was about to strike. 

Yes, the woman had a rifle, but her body language at that moment didn't seem like someone who was hunting for any particular person. In some distant thought, you recognized her very well. 

"Were you hiding?" you quietly ask, mostly to yourself. The two members that existed between you looked to your voice. Neither of them said anything.

"Did you, kill that man?" she asks, her voice was hardened, you could tell she had seen more pain than most. With the way her hair was unkempt and dirty you suspected she was handling her situation very well, or at least, to the best she could. When she squeezes the rifle closer your eyes are narrowing at her intent, you're suddenly worried she might fling off the handle. 

"Considering he gave my partner here little choice, I'd reckon we did a number on him that he ain't coming back from," Arthur explains, his gun remained unmoved as it itched for any reason to fire. 

His words seem to do nothing for her, she almost seemed relieved as she relaxed into the tree behind her. Her eyes snap back between the both of you. 

"Did you, well I hate to ask, but, is there anything left in the cabin then?" she asks cautiously, hesitant as if afraid she would insult either of you or be accused of trying to rob you of what you had taken. 

The question has you looking to Arthur, he was the one who did the walkthrough. The man only stared a moment silently, his eyes hardened and sharp before drastically softening with the rest of his body. Disarming himself he returns the pistol to his holster, resting his arm across the horn of his saddle as he hunches over. 

Eventually, he responds, "Depends on what you're lookin' for." 

The woman seems to jump at the chance, your brow raises as the conversation quickly turns civil watching as the stranger begins to explain her case, "Medicine, my - - my daughter, she's come down with some affliction, I can't afford to buy it, we -"

"You ain't gotta explain yourself to us, Miss." Arthur interjects, "We didn't find much in there, but what's left you're welcome to, didn't see nothing to help with no illness though." 

The information has the woman deflating, the head splitting expression she wears has pity eating at your heart. 

"I might have some in my bag though," you mention, too busy to notice the two staring hard at you as you promptly sift through your satchel and saddle bags. The woman stands up from the ground and eagerly waits to see what you have. "I don't know if this'll help much, but, it might help with getting energy back," you explain, giving the bottle a once over as you're handing it down to her to look at herself. 

It was one of the solutions you made while you were on your own during that miserable period. You remember the pain in the ass it was trying to hunt down the last sage you needed for the Special Bitters recipe. You weren't positive if you were going to regret giving it up, but at the moment all you could think about was trying to help where you could, you saw yourself in this stranger. 

Were you disgusted with yourself? Angry? Afraid? You don't have time to figure it out when the woman is grabbing at your leg, fingers digging feverishly against your thigh. As your eyes meet hers, you're gifted by a contagious smile that could rival Arthur's. She looked ready to be on the verge of tears.

"Thank you! Both of you! Thank you both for your kindness." the woman conveys with a tone so genuine you have to take a moment to try and reconsider her situation, what if it was worse than you were imagining. She steps back from you, and borderline worship's your offering. You and Arthur share a glance, equally astonished by the situation. 

In a world where coming up on strangers with guns was more dangerous than not, the both of you were gradually more confused as she gives the both of you her thanks, where she could, expressing how if she could return the favor down the road she would. 

Before long, the woman says her farewells and makes her way to the lakeside cabin. Arthur is already leading the way again, ready to move on, you're only a tad bit lagging, still trying to process if what happened was genuine or something with malevolence. 

As the two of you are left to yourselves once more, you take a moment to examine the gunslinger, gauging if he's up to talking or not.

"Hey, Arthur," you begin. He offers you the tilt of his head without looking back at you, his eyes still trained on the environment around you. "When are we going after Colm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooow.😓 This one was difficult, mostly because of work and writer's block slamming me at once. This mean's I'm interested in seeing what you think, doubly so, because I'm anxious to see what could be fixed and what I could have done better. Not sure what happened with the formatting on this one either, still trying to adjust to the Ao3 format. Regardless! Thank you for reading as you did!   
> Chapter eight is going to have some exciting events coming up; I'll have to get started on it right away! I am looking forward to hearing from you! Thank you again!


	8. Deep Down We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They want a parley? It’s a trap!” Hosea calls from the table with his nose deep in some crime novel.
> 
> Micha, Pearson, Dutch, and Arthur were all standing at Dutch’s tent. Micha calls back at Hosea, “Well, of course, it’s probably a trap, but what have we got to lose finding out?”
> 
>  
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

       The ride to camp was a long one. Especially after Arthur gave you a short and bone-chilling warning to keep that question to yourself. You weren't sure what to do with this sort of Arthur. You'd seen him around camp giving this sort of facade only once in a blue moon, there was never much time to identify what exactly was causing it. 

You wouldn't say he viewed you as a common house plant along the way, more so, a house plant that he really wanted to keep from sprouting legs and walking itself out. While the ride was, uncomfortable this way, it allowed you time to really memorize landmarks that would help you find the camp should the need arise. At first sight of the flimsy material, tents were made from, your breath catches in your throat, that butterfly mix of fear and excitement played drums in your chest.

“Look who's back.” a low voice almost startles you from the bushes. Charles standing watch was looking at the both of you expectantly, a slight smile on his face you gauged your presence was not un-welcomed by him, it subdued your fear by a tinge. 

“Not a moment too soon either, this one here would have burned themselves alive.” Arthur comments, his monotone has you stuttering to realize that he was teasing. 

“Was not going to burn myself alive! It was one moment I wasn't paying attention!” You defend giving Arthur a squinted glance.

Charles laughs at the both of you, “I’ll let Person know to keep the fire low then.” he adds. 

You roll your eyes in defeat, “Arthur, see what you did, the more you share that around, the more incompetent I seem.” you bicker. And that’s all it took for the man to break into a smile, it was slight, but there all together. 

The two of you kept on through, and the closer you got to the center of camp the less you were able to admire the vast grazing fields for the horses. Ace would love this for sure. 

“Grey!” a tiny voice whoops at you. It almost makes you jump, but you find your tension softening at the small Jack running towards you. You’re quick to match his excitement as you slide off and out of your saddle. Picking him up with an eager swoop you toss him in the air, ignoring the strain on your muscles that reminded you of how quickly he was growing up. A broad smile seats itself onto your face as the laughter from the boy’s lungs swells in volume.

“Where did you go?” Jack asks between bouts of laughter. His question has you settling him against your side before you’re helping him back down onto his own feet. 

“You know, out,” you drawl.

“Like uncle Arthur does?” he quizzes, the two of you looking over at Arthur who still sat upon his horse watching over the two of you. 

A smug smile reaches you, “Exactly like uncle Arthur, trouble and all.” you quip. This has little Jack gasping and looking to the man behind you with agog. 

“Don't listen to that nonsense, Jack. Are you staying out of trouble?” Arthur questions. 

Jack only nods eagerly, “Of course!” 

“Mhm, well, go find your mother, let’s let her be the judge of that,” Arthur instructs, getting down from his horse. Jack makes a noise you can only assume as denial and a need to prove Arthur wrong before the boy is running off towards camp. 

Arthur and you share a wholehearted smile only to be interrupted when Kieran’s small voice perks up from the other side of Arthur’s horse. 

“W-Welcome back, Grey, I could take care of the horses for ya if you wanted to go reunite with everyone.” the skittish man offers. You stare at him a moment, Arthur seemed to be waiting for you to respond to him. 

“If you wanted to spend time with Ace you only gotta ask, Kieran, It’s good to see you.” you tease, extending a hand to him and initiating a handshake to which he gladly takes. You felt something different with Kieran than you did the rest of the gang. Something relatable, you believed it had to do with how the both of you were picked up and considered outsiders. The both of you seemed to have an understanding on that front. 

“Good to see you too, and you know me, horses are more my pace anyway,” he adds, with a nod before taking the two horses away towards the horse station. 

“Look at you, we shoulda decorated you like a prize cow with all this attention you’re gettin’.” Arthur jests. 

You raise a brow at him, “That’s not jealousy I hear is it, Mr. Morgan?” you quiz. 

The man tucks his neck into his shoulders, “Ain’t nothing to be Jealous about,” he leans in rather close his lips parting for words barely above a whisper at your ear, “besides if I want something I go and get it.” 

The implication has your eyes widening with surprise, was it wrong for you to be thinking the things you were? The two of you share a heated gaze where did this come from you wonder. You replay his words in your head, contemplating countless other possibilities. What else could he have meant? The blush rising to your face is evident enough that you heard him loud and clear. 

“Arthur!” 

You’re quickly snapped out of the haze the gunslinger had dressed you in. Looking towards the source, you see Uncle waddling his way over, 

“Stay away from me,” Arthur coldly commands, turning his attention to who was demanding. 

“But I got a tip!” Uncle negotiates. 

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” 

“But it’s a good one.”

“Anything good to you ends us up getting shot at and trapped inside a burning barn,” the taller man jibs, “Besides that, when were you gonna tell someone where Grey was going?” the question has you curious as well, but you were already expecting some slimy response before the elder could open his mouth. Arthur begins to walk away from the lumbago ridden hoax, which only seems to spur Uncle’s need to explain his new tip further. 

You stalk behind the two as they make their way elsewhere into camp, not having much of a destination in mind besides exploring the field some. 

You make your way under the grand tree in the middle, you can only awe at its size as it seems to shelter the whole camp under its reach. Your moment of pause lasts just a short while before you hear that trumpeting voice again, it had you feeling more dread than excitement. 

“Grey!” Dutch hollers, hands in the air as if he’s excited to see you, you saw through that charismatic behavior however. “Welcome back to our humble abode, did you enjoy your time away?” The man’s words held more than what he was letting on, and as he approached closer, you were hesitant to open your mouth, fearing that your words could be used against you. You anticipate the drop of the heavy hand at your shoulder, coming down a bit harder than necessary, you narrowed your eyes when Dutch leans in closer and lowering his voice a notch. 

“You see now, Grey, if you double-crossed us,” he breathes in licking his lips, “Well, we’d have to kill ya’.” A smile comes to your face at his threat, lifting your gaze to stare back into the orbs that bore into you with venomous intent. 

“No doubt, about that, Dutch.” you calmly state. And to make things worse, the presence that comes up behind you offers no release. 

Micha’s obnoxious snake-like tongue speaks out, “Probably had been better for you to stay outside the camp, whim-wham. Might stand more of a chance out there than here.”

The situation you found yourself in made sure you knew nothing you could say now would make it end any sooner. So you kept quiet, resisting the urge to bare your teeth at the pair. 

“Miss Susan!” Dutch calls out somewhere beyond you, “Come show Grey where to get settled back into their home.” and with a final squeeze to your shoulder Dutch shakes you just enough to snag your balance. And like that the two are walking off to their own spaces as if everything that happened was part of a different world. 

“Good to have you back, Grey, missed those hard-working hands of yours.” Susan softly speaks behind you, which has you turning your attention to her and tossing your discomfort to the ground with it. “Right this way,” she adds before treading heavily towards the back of what you recognized as Marston’s tent. And sure enough, there it was.

A tree, accompanied by two good sized rocks, standing just near the camp table, you couldn't have thought it as anything but perfect with the way it would be sublime to gaze across the lake towards the other islands. With a fitting sigh, you’re mentally accepting it as your new home. 

“Now,” Susan starts, “don't go disappearing like ya did. Aint gonna do none of us any good, especially if you’re off spreading news of our existence and what not.” 

“Never my intention, Miss Grimshaw.” 

The woman makes an unamused noise in the back of her throat, “well, work starts in the morning I’ll be seein’ you then.” Susan adds before turning away and storming somewhere more important than there. 

Keeping the sigh to yourself, you remain impartial about working. It was back to pulling your weight, whether that included doing more than what was fair. It quiets down around you, and you take a moment to plan out how you would lay down your small roll out. And once you have your idea, you leave to obtain it from the back of your saddle. Nothing too exciting there until you’re approaching your tree again, some tones just short of a growl catches your ears. 

“What?!” the woman nastily questions. 

Then a voice you recognize all too well, “Take it easy with that stuff.” Arthur says with that same warning from before, coarse and low in tone. Casually you look around for the source.

Karen was sitting against one of the wheels of the wagons, a bottle in hand lifted up at Arthur who stared at her from the corner of his eye under that hat of his. It was like watching two wolves snap at each other in the most passive-aggressive way, both having their own reasons for being so demanding.

“This  _ is  _ taking it easy!” Karen barks back, her body language if you were not mistaken, looked to be somewhat down under all that snippy defense. Your ears were waiting for Arthur to respond with something short and to the point, but instead, you watch as he moves away, giving Karen one of those disappointed looks. He seemed to know something you didn't. 

As the confrontation sizzles out, you turn your attention back to setting your resting space up, again. Then you move in your bags, carefully removing and folding up layers just to leave yourself in something comfortable to sleep in. 

Finishing the things you absolutely needed to accomplish before you could relax, you sit on your roll out, watching over the sunset that reflected off the water. You’d never grow tired of what the world could do, you did however become curious as to what was on those islands across the way. Maybe one day you’ll take the boat at the pier over and go on an explorative mission. 

Laying back with your head resting on your arms that laid under it and against your bag, you let the giddy atmosphere from the campfire send your mind into a fit of playbacks, smiling at the times in your life where such a happy tune sounded. You let your body relax, watching the sunset and overtime the partially full moon overhead began to make its appearance. 

The murmur from the camp behind you was welcoming, considering you’d sat alone with just you and Ace for the majority of a week, your ears were picking up all sorts of conversations. You chided yourself for being such an eavesdropper. But, again, you reminded yourself that knowledge was power, so in a sense, you were doing only what camp had asked, and that was to make money. In some, stretched and obscure way. With your eyelids falling burdensome, it wasn't hard for the conversations you were overhearing to convince your body into a stasis.

  
  
  


Suddenly you’re stirred awake, your heavy eyes lifting to dark and silence, for the most part. When had you fallen asleep exactly? You prepare to let that intoxicating sensation send you back into an unconscious state when you hear more arguing. 

“If you would only talk to me, I could help! I want to help you Dutch, but there's this wall…” Molly explains, and you could tell her voice was tense and desperate under that accent of hers. 

To which Dutch responds even louder, “You can help by leaving me alone, so I can actually think for once!” 

“You’re a bastard, Dutch van der Linde,” Molly adds before the air night air falls quiet again. 

You weren’t sure how much of it you missed, or if what you did miss is what woke you up. Quickly your mind pieces together it was a communication issue either way, Dutch’s resistance, - or whatever it was, to rely on Molly for support was quickly eating at the both of them. Arthur did say things had been tense at camp, you weren't sure if the recent disputes you were overhearing was part of it or if it was something more serious than you were seeing. 

Finding your mind trailing off, you never realize you’re wondering about the communication between you and Arthur. Thinking mostly about the situation at the pier, what had Arthur so frustrated and pained, and why he wouldn't tell you. The both of you had no problem in the past, sharing thoughts about things even if they were simplified and distant you still found ways to help each other.

Shutting your eyes you conclude you’ll ask the man about it come sun up, you tried to make it a big deal in your mind so you wouldn’t forget about it when you woke up. You had to get use to blocking out the arguing and other noises around camp that would be heard in the night. Usually, you just had to get tired enough to sleep right through anything. But being so well rested added some difficulty. 

  
  
  
  


The tickling sensation of whiskers at your nose and dancing across your eyelids have you stirring, twitching your head to the side, you hear some obscene licking followed by persistent sniffing. Something wet pokes your cheek before promptly the whole side of your face is lapped up by this God awful slimy length. 

Finally, you’re jerking away, eyes snapping open to this creature you’ve never seen before. 

It was a dog. 

You’re hesitant as you reach out to its chest to push it off of you. The scowl that falls across your face has you thinking that the dog should have at least taken you to dinner first before leaving a slime trail across the span of your face with its tongue. You give the dog an evil squint, but the smile on the dogs face as he pant’s out some horrid stench and that wagging tail behind him has a smile betraying you.

You cave and give the dog a good scratch around the ears, whispering your share of good mornings and asking who actually was the good boy? The two of you spend longer than expected at this, you seem to realize the dog was an attention hound, he was going to take anything he could get to which you happily gave. 

Finally, it seemed the dog was sated, enough to have his attention drawn elsewhere at least, and he’s quickly bounding off and barking at something unknown to you. You have a moment to collect yourself, you take in the early morning light and figure either work, or Ms. Grimshaw would be on you pretty soon, so you get up and throw your boots on. 

The rest of your morning goes quite smoothly, you spent most of it running around trying to figure out what goes where and putting up with witty remarks while questioning why you don't know the information already. If they wanted to deter you from working, they were doing a damn excellent job of it, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

It was when you were putting the sacks of grain down near Pearson’s wagon when you heard more arguing. 

“They want a parley? It’s a trap!” Hosea calls from the table with his nose deep in some crime novel. 

Micha, Pearson, Dutch, and Arthur were all standing at Dutch’s tent. Micha calls back at Hosea, “Well, of course, it’s probably a trap, but what have we got to lose finding out?”

To which Arthur juts in, anger just creeping in as he rectifies, the lanky man's response, “Get shot.” Dutch seems in agreeance, lifting his hand to the answer and looking over Micha. 

“We ain't getting shot because you’ll be protecting us.” Micha retorts in that snake tongued way of his, jabbing a finger in your gunslinger’s direction, “It’s a trap; you shoot the lot of them, if it ain't a trap, that slim chance-”

Dutch moves to storm over to the table as he grits out, “I don't see a point in any of this!” tossing his cigar to the ground with a click of his tongue.

“It’s a chance we gotta take.” Micha pleads. And the group goes silent all waiting on Dutch’s word, you included even though you weren’t invited.

“I killed Colm’s brother, long time ago, then he killed, a woman I loved dear.” This caught your attention and made it damn impossible to let go. They were parleying with Colm O'driscoll? Even if you weren’t invited you were going, no doubt about that. 

“As you say, it's a long time ago, Dutch.” The snake adds, with that conniving tone of his.

And after a moment of silence that seems to stretch too long, Dutch makes the decision, “Let's go. You and me with Arthur protecting us, no one else!”

And at the drop of a hat, the three of them are splitting off. Your muscles jump to action. Arthur whistles out towards the scout camp, raising his hand in the air and motioning someone to come over. You pay no mind to it, grabbing Arthur’s arm before he’s getting too far away, but he already looks to have anticipated you. 

“Arthur, I have to go with you on this,” you state, and the man had already begun shaking his head at you, telling you no before you could finish what you had to say. And you weren’t taking no for an answer. A seriousness that should have had you quick to anger was instead making your tongue sharper, “Morgan,” you snarl, “Colm is the only one I know of who knows where Diana is, and if you’re going to see him, to make peace?! -” you cut yourself off from yelling and resort to hissing through your clenched teeth. “I have to be there, I have to find out.” He remains unmoved, standing stone still like a collum with his hands up like he was trying to keep you from moving towards your horse. 

“You’re staying here," Arthur firmly responds, "and that’s the final word.” That growl you've heard him use when he’s getting after someone was heavy in his throat.

“What if you kill him?!” You sibilate, ripping your wrist away from his hand. 

He hides his gaze under his hat before his attention is darting to Charles who was coming over rather hurriedly. “Charles, keep this one from following, could ya?” Arthur asks as if you weren’t even there. 

You give the shorter man a hard scowl, baring your teeth like you were going to lunge for his throat if he even tried to touch you. He only looks away from you giving Arthur a brief nod which sends the gunslinger away towards his horse. 

Your steadily raging thoughts are already thinking of ways to get around this man. He was good at what he did though, you knew even if you did get around him at this moment, he’d sooner track you down before you made it too far. That uncomfortable tension swelling inside your chest has the nerves in your hands twitching, and the further away the three disappeared into the edge of the woods an itch to lash out violently formed.

Charles raises his hands in an attempt to calm you, and it works for the most part, “Listen, I know you’re angry, I don't want to be doing this either,  but, let's try and get you to think clearly for a second.”

“All you ever do is restrain me, Charles, quit treating me like some animal.” You bite, but you don't touch, your instincts told you he would make quick work of you if you tried anything in your rage fueled behavior. Your mind already playing back to the last time you were in such an uncomfortable situation, all it kept thinking was how Charles was more than happy to tie you up like a dog. “You have no God damn clue how important this is to me, I have to get this information, I have to -”

“Then trust Arthur then.” He injects. His words make you stutter. 

You had no reason not to trust, Arthur, it was when the thoughts that entered your head made your gaze go dark, “It’s not Arthur who I don't trust.” You ground out, jaw clenched tight to the point of aching, which you would have felt if you weren’t so blinded by your emotions at this point.

“Everything will work out,” Charles sighs out, this has you pinching the bridge of your nose, your agitation seemed to skyrocket at his attempt to dissuade your thoughts. 

“Do you honestly think it’s going to end well? Those three? Just them against that slimy son-of-a-bitch?!” your voice is climbing in pitch now, your fists clenching and trembling as they do everything but attack the man in front of you. “You’re not stupid, Charles! Everyone knows you’re not, so quit lying to me!” He only responds to you with silence, he knew you were angry, and he knew there would be no talking sense into you while you were so worked up. You realized this yourself shortly after and struggled to reign in your composure that was abandoned way before this all started. 

“Arthur is reliable isn't he?” Charles asks, noticing your calmed interior.

“That’s-” you sigh out, tension leaving you as you begin to feel defeated, “That’s not the issue. It’s that sly bastard, Micha, I don't trust him, he just convinced Dutch to do something so stupid. What else is he capable of? What if they don't bring Arthur back, what if -” 

“Now you’re just twisting yourself, You’ll go stir crazy before they get back, they’ll be back, you’ll see. Now go busy yourself with something and don't let me catch you trying to sneak out either, I’ll know.” and with his words he leaves. You only watch, that antsy broil in your chest was getting worse the further he went.

You take a glance at the woodline that separates you and having all that anger inside you vanquished. Your head burns as you contemplate everything you would need to take on this task, before you jump to, you shut your eyes and worry your lip. You would be going against a lot of people here, one specifically you couldn't bear to betray. All those days you spent contemplating if you could put down this need for revenge to pursue a better life it was for nothing, and here you stood not going anywhere towards fulfilling that hate you had. What were you doing? All because you were afraid of what Arthur might feel if you went against what he wanted? 

There was a blip in your mind that made you wonder if patience was needed here. And that’s it. That’s all you asked yourself, you knew if you started questioning more you would convince yourself to leave. 

Hugging yourself you turn to back to your tree, you contemplate even tying yourself to it.

Throwing your jittery body down against the base of the tree you rest your head in your hands, your stress raked your fingers through your hair, and your knee bounced anxiously. What exactly were you waiting for? Was it to find out what happened to Colm or was it to find out if Arthur would come back? Surely you had been used to waiting for Arthur to come back, never knowing if he actually would. So it must not have been the latter, yet, you treat it as if it was.

You begin to valiantly get to work, busying yourself with what was left of the chores, you practically steal work from others just to keep your mind occupied. You could do this. So you committed yourself to shut off your worries and trusting Arthur to them.

What happened shortly that night however, well, you could have never imagined.

The first whiff of stench Dutch and Micha brought in with them back to camp had you seizing. Dropping what you were doing and storming over. You watch the two tiredly get off their horses. 

“Did you two finish what you set out to do?” You snapped, not even giving them time to settle in. Dutch gives you this guilty look that agitates the thorn that was long seated in your chest. 

“Back off, Grey.” Micha bites, approaching you and standing tall like it was going to get you to ease up. Some failed attempt at intimidation. “It was a trap, we didn't get nothing done.” He confesses, waving his hand at you in a rude fashion, the snake talked as if this was all unforeseen, that they were so tragically tricked and he was the victim in this. 

You hold your tongue. As much as you wanted to spit out how much of an idiot he was, you had more pressing questions on your mind. 

Glancing around, the growl in your voice intensified, “Where the hell is, Arthur?” you questioned. This had everyone quiet, almost as overwrought as you to hear the answer.

Micha looks away from you, shying away and backing down, so your eyes looked to Dutch, and when that man looked ten times smaller you knew the answer before they had time to explain. 

And like some cornered animal, you attack. 

The clenched fist that had stayed with you since the three left was swung at a merciless speed directly for Micha’s nose. 

       With a pop, his body recoils away from you, but you don't give him an inch as you’re stepping to him and grabbing him by anything really, anything to drive him seven feet down into the ground where he belonged. 

With his body flopping pathetically into the mud you chase after that revolting face of his, a rush of air leaves you, to say it came out angry would be an understatement. You were gunning for this snake’s life.

You ignored his panic-stricken fumbling, feeling the hands against you as something like a light drumming, you were far too lost to this nasty creature born from hate inside you to feel any sort of pain at this moment. With your hands compressing around the pliable portion of his neck, you squeezed and squeezed. His filthy hands revolted against you, thrashing to get away from the death grip you had on him while sealing away any and all air to his body.

Your weight is cast aside when you’re being shoved off of your victim, your blurry vision is eagerly clarified with more than a couple rapid blinks. 

Hosea had swept you aside when you realize you’re not about to get a lecture, your eyes are snapping to the rat that was collecting itself on the ground across from you. 

When Micha isn't jumping up to get even, you’re not in the right mind to be surprised. Something inside your brain was telling you that was how it should always be.

A good question rings in your ears, “What are you not saying, Dutch?” Hosea calmly asks. 

You’re rising to your feet with your eyes never leaving Dutch, waiting on his answer. Yet, you don't hear anything, you see his lips move but, you don't register any words besides the few that make your heart drop. 

“He didn't even want you to go,” you mutter, not sure if you’re talking to yourself or to Dutch when you speak it aloud. The pain inside you had a lump forming in your throat, choking you up as you fight the tears that threaten to paint your cheeks. “We have to find him.” You state, head in your hand as you’re already turning around to collect your few belongings. 

Everything was jumbled. You were being torn in separate ways. 

“No, the best thing we can do for him right now would be to stay put.” The voice of reason, Hosea, dictates. And just like that, suddenly Dutch is taking the stage, doing what he has always done best, giving his grand speech about how Arthur is stronger than what they were expecting. You would have listened, maybe even allowed yourself to be comforted by those dressed up lies, but all you kept thinking were these nasty thoughts. Angry thoughts. It wasn't your place to tell Dutch that all he ever did was use and abuse Arthur like some mule. It wouldn't change Dutch’s ways unless it was coming from someone he actually valued. 

The gang begins to splinter off after Dutch’s performance comes to an end and the trumpeting man tells them to all get back to purposeful work. It was physically painful to hold your tongue. 

When Hosea approaches your hunched over form, you’re too tired to offer much to him. You only wait to hear what he had to say. 

“Grey, I know you’re probably going to start flinging off the handles more so than you already have,” he explains, to which you offer only a pitiful noise from your throat. “It won't do to have you not be here when he comes back.” 

With hopeful eyes and mirth that was born from anger and disbelief you ask, “He’s coming back?”

“Course!” The man replies rather cheerfully. The spell you were under faded a bit. “If you were paying attention and not murdering others with your eyes, didn't sound like they found a body, so, that’s gotta mean he’s somewhere. You know him and his gallivanting tendencies.”

“What if he doesn't?”

“Now you're living on what ifs, and that just sounds like someone who needs to make a choice.”

He was right, nothing good ever came of listing what if’s if we never did anything about them. 

So what were you going to do? 

And that very question kept you up for the following days. Going through the motions you tried to answer it, you would get as far as to pack your things before the thought of not being here for Arthur when he needed it would come into your head. You could go find him, maybe he needed help. And what if you couldn’t find him? Would you wander around the country trying to find him? And for how long? 

You would lay down at your mat, thoughts circling each other endlessly, some nights you would move between his bed and yours. You felt closer to him there, being surrounded by his belongings, his place of rest at the end of the day. The feeling was intoxicating, and it kept you there for the majority of your time, just relishing in everything that was him but wasn't in the emptiest of ways. 

It wasn't enough to lull you to sleep however, you very much remained conscious through all of this waiting. You found yourself thinking how you’ve never gone through something as worse as standing still in a place you didn't belong. 

Your body’s disinterest in sleep was likely a blessing in disguise, your eyes would tiredly drift to that imbecile Micha. All you kept thinking is that if you killed that asshole weeks ago, this could have been avoided. You could tell the bastard was waiting for you to fall asleep too, the way he sharpened his teeny-tiny knife and stole glances at you. Only staring back you were more than tempted to invite him over and call him out on it, just so you would have an excuse to murder the man in self-defense. You were seething at the sight of both Micha and Dutch, it was the sort of anger that had you wanting to shout, but words were unable to form on your tongue. Your eyes would shut just to avoid looking through that dizzying lens of rage. 

Occasionally Susan would come through and try and whip you into getting to work, but you could see under that stony face of her’s that you weren’t the only one affected by Arthur’s disappearance. The woman didn't have much fight to relentlessly nag as she did in the past. You would look around at the other’s the atmosphere had definitely been brought down, the frowns on everyone's faces were evidence enough.

You would hear Abigail assuring little Jack that his uncle Arthur was going to be back and not to worry about what everyone was muttering about around camp. That made you angry too, in some small way. Gritting your teeth, you argued inside your head about how no one could know for sure if no one went out to actually find him. What was with everyone lying?

And finally, your mind was beginning to break. Running on no sleep for the past day or two was the least of your worries. You were questioning inwardly now, wondering how you had let yourself grow so attached to Arthur. It was like you were losing him over and over again every time you would wait for him to come back. You missed him so much, you tried to remember what you were like before meeting him, yet all you could manage was disdain for your past self, something bitter on your heart. You had all this anger that was sitting on your soul, and with no way to express it, or vent it out to healthy and manageable levels, you were doomed to make mistakes somewhere. 

There must have been something you could do, something that would keep you from feeling this excruciating sensation in your chest. It was leaving you as weak as a dead leaf.

With your hands dug in so fevered into Arthur’s bed, your attention is stolen, a group had been approaching you. 

“That’s pretty, Dutch…” You double take on the words, eyes widening in disbelief before you see an unorthodox sight. “That’s real pretty.” Arthur grounds out. You’re jumping from his bed as they spill him in your place. Your hands only hover, not daring to touch the gunslinger, fear of making what you thought was a hallucination disappear. 

On the bed, his face never relaxed, it was contorted and interlaced with agony and some desperate sign of someone who was finally finding relief. The deep and dark wound across his shoulder had your breath hitching as you’re drawn in closer. 

Interrupted when Dutch raises his voice, “Miss Grimshaw,” he seems to lower his voice, “will you sit with him a while?” he asks. And with all the pain you had been feeling the past few days, the aching that came with knowing you would be shooed away was nothing. It only brought the slightest frown to you. 

You prepared yourself to leave, only to have your wrist snatched up by the desperate man from below. 

“Grey,” Arthur gasps, “stay here?” 

The two behind you give each other a look which you could care less about at this moment before they hesitantly made away.

“Please?” he croaks, to which you’re snapping to, taking up his hand in a tight clasp and taking the chair from nearby never letting go.

Your eyes welled tears, derived from having felt comfort after what seemed like weeks of needing. Never once did you think that your tears were more than what they were. Arthur was too busy trying to fight off his discomfort to make conversation with you, his need to have you nearby was loud enough for you to understand. 

You feel him relax. He was gritting his teeth, and his brows were taut, but he was relishing in his situation. Every so often you would feel his hand knead into yours, you assured him, whispering to him to breathe through it explaining that you were there, soothing him. He would listen for the most part, eyes still clamped shut as he is drifting off into a sleep again. The pain expression he wore was different from the one you saw at the pier. You rubbed your cheek against his hand, indulging in your need to feel him here with you. 

Then everything clicked. 

The harrowing realization of what had the man retracting himself from you a few days ago surfaced to your conscious. All this pain and agony would have been avoided if you kept your feelings to yourself. You were only going to ruin yourself and those with all this anger in your heart. And when you threw your perceptions of what Arthur thought about you letting go of your past into the mix, you got even more confused. 

You were honest enough with yourself to know your hate would never go away, you also knew this meant you’d never be able to fully embrace your feelings for Arthur. Such a big factor would drive the two of your apart before the two of you genuinely began.  And if you wanted him to be happy, you knew what you would have to do. 

Swallowing hard, you mustered up any shred of audacity you've ever held within yourself. Your gunslinger's unconscious state was the saving grace here. 

Your words croak out barely beyond a whisper, with silent drops falling onto his dirtied hand. 

You were so sorry for what you were about to do. Beyond sorry, not just to Arthur but to yourself, you hated yourself for what you were about to do, more so than you have in the past. All you kept chanting in your head, was that it was what’s right. That to see the change both you and Arthur desired you would have to manage to subdue the conflict you carried with you. You weren't sure if you were scared, or eager, but you knew one thing, it was going to test you in places you’ve never ventured before. 

What else did you have to gain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting much harder to discipline myself to write; my creative juices are busy flowing towards one of my Original stories I'd like to rework and get published. But I also know if I stop to work on that story I won't finish this one. I know I'm late, staying on schedule to have this story completed by February 21st is very much my goal. I am open to constructive criticism, although I know this isn't the best quality. But there are things like -Use to or Used to- I still haven't completely understood so if you know of any tips along those lines I'd appreciate learning about them.   
>  I should be starting Chapter 9 later tonight, and since I don't have work the next day, I should be getting a decent amount of progress on it. Chapter 9 Is going to be fun! I'm not sure if I've said that about the earlier chapters, again I am curious as to what you guys will think, I know it's going to have some action in it, I'm excited about that bit. Events from chapter 7 will be making an appearance. - If that's the way, you explain that sorta thing.-   
>  OH! But most importantly, thank you for reading, and if you've been here from the get-go, color me impressed, I'd love to shake your hand, and If you notice anything that you think needs to be reworked, I trust you to not lead me astray.


	9. The Hearse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It stings, sure, that dull ache across your cheekbone brought some blip of anger. But, you already anticipated this, thankfully you weren’t spitting out your own blood already, you did despise that iron taste. Regardless, you were going to get an answer out of this man, even if your hands were literally tied. You knew people got angry, and they would make mistakes, and they would start slipping up and saying what's really on their mind. You were a victim of that fact as well, that’s what had you so comfortable around it.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give special thanks to those who leave comments; I probably wouldn't have finished this chapter today if I didn't hear from you guys this morning. No exaggeration when I say we write it together, your enthusiasm and support, and telling me what you think motivates and inspires me. I hope to hear what you guys think of this chapter; I had fun with it, and I hope you do too.

       It was sundown when you were stopping by into Rhodes you pick up the essentials, plus some, from the general store, nothing too extravagant there. You did, however, notice a heavy set man with a set of large axes strapped to his back. With the limited light, you weren’t too sure, but you could only imagine what a man like that was doing there. And those around you whispered about him too, but you thought nothing of it beyond that. Frankly, you didn't care. 

You were too mentally and emotionally exhausted to care beyond what goal you had seared into your mind. It didn't matter if you wanted to do it or not, it needed to be done if you ever wanted to see Arthur, let alone yourself happy. The constant aching that pulsed in your chest was your only reminder of what and who you were sacrificing so much for. In some distant thoughts, you found it would be perfect to keep you focused. But that didn't change how it stung. 

On your way out, you swung by the gunsmith, looking to get a holster for that Volcanic pistol that the Pinkerton at the pier had the misfortune of letting you acquire. You weren't too sure what to make of the clerk there, he had this aura about him that made you want to get out of there as quickly as you could, thankfully he seemed just as eager to get you out of the store, you had come in just before he was closing. You could tell the clerk wasn't about to turn down more money though. So you didn't feel overly rushed until you had found what you wanted from the catalog and he only seemed to take his time when retrieving it for you from his stock. 

When you stepped out and the door locked behind you, you didn't waste any time finding Ace through the scarce bit of lighting that was offered by the light post nearby. Before mounting up you made sure Ace was fit for the long journey ahead, you asked yourself if this was something you wanted to do? And you knew it wasn't, no you never wanted to leave, never knowing when you'd see him again. Then you asked yourself if this was something you needed to do? If this was something, Arthur needed you to do? 

You didn't bother responding to that question when you were already mounting into your saddle. You wanted to see this be over with, and you weren’t going to manage that by asking yourself if you could. 

And with a determination you haven't felt in years, the pair of you took off down the main road headed north at a steady pace. You didn't ask Ace for anything more than his relaxed canter that was always more extended than most. You had a long journey ahead of you both, it wouldn’t do to exert all his stamina in the beginning. 

Thinking back to when you had managed to squeeze the information you needed out of Pearson, you decided you’d make your way up through to Emerald Ranch on the off chance the vermin left their stench behind somewhere nearby. Knowing that the trail would have run cold after the first few hours of them ambushing Arthur, and Dutch with the Snake heavy on his shoulder. Nothing was going to stop you from figuring it out though, you knew the O'driscolls were known to hang around Valentine, in which case you'd be only a stretch of road away. 

Drifting through the winding roads, the lack of light made it difficult to see much, but you assured yourself by the time you arrived, you'd be well on your way to being able to look at what you were hunting for, at least, that's what you hoped. And some angry part of you was telling you that’s how it would be, or else. 

You passed many signs on your way through, eyeing the roads for any obstructions, with just the hiss from the marshlands to your east you were a bit paranoid about any alligators that strayed too far from their waters. And with the moon glaring down at you from above, you felt guilty, like the world was calling you out on your selfish act, suddenly the night couldn't be dark enough. 

Trying your damnedest to focus on anything but those swirling emotions proved to be impossible without something else that would call upon you to be physically active. It frustrated you, made you want to push Ace harder to get there quicker, and in some places you did. You would only realize your impatience when you flinch at the unexpected way his head would stretch forward and snap back, almost clocking you in the nose. 

Words of discontent would spill past your lips, only because you knew how eager you were to finish this, and the fact you'd only just started made you grind your teeth painfully so. You needed some way to remind yourself that this wasn't something you could complete in a day like you did chores at camp. 

The air around you started changing, from that cold, stale breeze into something more humid, fog forming in blankets across the vast grasslands around you, the sun was itching to retake its stage. It was probably one of your favorite times of the cycle. 

Crickets betraying the false light that spread it's way across the sky and birds chirping despite the obvious lack of. The display was a tribute, words whispered between both the moon and sun, little did they know you knew of their shared agreement. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


‘Welcome to New Hanover, - Emerald Crossing,’ flashes by, and you take your time as you bring Ace into a trot. You didn't want to stop him right away, the poor boy might cramp up, so you took a look around on your way through the middle of town - if you could call it that. You thought about stopping into the saloon for information, but, it looked to be inactive, you weren't sure what good that would do you. 

You direct Ace towards the body of water just north of the ranch, it was already beginning to show signs of activity with water foul waking up and preparing to start their day. Ace was already burning up with sweat, nostrils flared as he throws his head about while collecting himself. 

When he manages to walk without bouncing up and down, you lead him the rest of the way on foot. He seems more desperate for water than you anticipated, and you praise yourself to making the call to come through when he’s wasting no time leaning forward to lap at the cooling pool. 

Reaching down to the water to take a cup into your hands, and with the sun coming up you discovered the red sand of Rhodes had followed you here, it created a blip in your mind reminding you of how far along you were. You were plagued by discouragement in your head, with a frown you reached down to dust off your gloves and the rest of your clothes. You had no time to fall victim to that way of thinking. 

Removing your gloves to join Ace with his morning drink, you enjoy the fresh water down your throat, it tastes earthy, but, it was cold. After you had your fill, you continue to encourage your stallion’s drinking habits, letting him take his rest you spend time working on scrubbing out the sweat that had formed, making sure his coat could breathe and air out. 

Lifting your head to look around the grassy plains, hills and all, as the sun was cresting over you see a dark figure, just barely recognizable with the intensity of the morning sun. Two large axes crossed him out, you pulled your binos out for a second look. 

You could tell he was watching you too with a closer examination, you zoomed in. You recognized him in some distant way, the sense of familiarity made you uneasy. He wasn't moving though. Instead, he was eerily staring you down. You didn't feel fear, more so you had a sharpness in your thoughts that helped you construct your course of action. 

If this man really were following you, you'd need someplace that involved being close and could hinder the man’s long-reaching and swinging axes’ useless. It would also give you an edge, you were more comfortable with your melee weapons of course.

Quietly you readied yourself to test this possibility. You didn't need any interruptions on your journey, you were not going to let anything stop you from reaching what you desired most. Mounting up, you guided Ace, encouraging a calm departure despite the anxiety bouncing around on his back.  

Heading North-East towards the mountain’s you duck under the train tracks and follow a valley up. You were lucky when you stumbled upon an abandoned shack, accompanied by a serene pond bustling with geese and perch.  As much as you wished to stake a claim to this place you had one thing on your mind, and the spine clenching tension that dug into you kept you on your toes. Paranoid or not, you weren’t taking any chances. 

You rushed off of Ace, whispering to him, growling at him to get gone. He gladly took his leave, and you were racing to barge into the grim dwelling. 

The overtone of what had happened inside this building made you sick, nauseous but it was something you couldn't stop looking at thanks to that burning curiosity the scene forcibly drew from you like some spell. 

It was as if they were murdered in their sleep, throats slit like pigs when they still had flesh and blood. At the other end of the building past the rows of beds, you see a figure, long dead, hunched over a desk with various pitchers and flasks of all colors. Candles lined the wall behind the hooded figure. It made the saliva in your mouth feel thick, and your blood ran cold as you pressed yourself to the flimsy wall just right of the entryway. 

The skip of a rock outside was all it took to snap you out of your stupefying experience. You had a hunter of your own, you didn't have time to pursue this anomaly.

Having made no time to watch the pursuers approach, you weren’t entirely sure what you were up against and when they would appear, but you prepared yourself for the worst. 

You dug the back of your head against the eroded boards behind you, eyes narrowed and buzzing for any evidence of motion that would come through that door. Slowly you pulled your knife that rested along the small of your back, careful to avoid making any sound. 

The malign on the glint of the axe that peaked into the room has your eyes. It’s like the head of the axe was staring right at you, eye; preying on you, waiting and anxious as you could only stare back it with sweat forming profusely at your palms. And like the sound of thunder, boots pounded against the wooden steps just to your left, making your heart clench impossibly harder. 

The bull-necked individual crept into the building, you watched as the man fails to register you as anything other than a column to support the rickety structure. His eyes wide and beady, something crazed and untamed glistening behind those lids. You don't have time to identify him, you don't recognize him upon first glance, but he’s already inching his way down the row of final resting places. 

His attention starts from the left, he seemed just as confused at the scene in the room as you were as he’s slowly scanning his way around. 

Before he exits engagement distance, you make one giant stride for the man while you could still take him by surprise. You aim your knife for his neck, grabbing his free appendage by the forearm and bending it behind his back. 

His body jolts as you’re slamming him into the corner of the stacked bedposts. His voice was rough as he releases a grunt of discomfort. 

“What do you want?” you snap out with your knife digging its careful edge to prick his auburn skin.

A moment of pause reaches the both of you, it made you narrow your attention to anything unpredictable the brute might be planning. You lean forward to ask again, twisting your hunter's arm up into the center of his shoulder blades and ignoring the large axe that remained strapped to his back.

You press on, “Answer me now, or I give your neck a new hole to breathe through!” 

The huntsman winds forward, before abruptly jerking his head back into your nose. The force is enough to make you flinch, for a brief moment you react to the tinge of pain, and that's all the man needed to escape your hold.

You collect yourself, and naturally, the sight of the man straightening back up with a long axe in hand is enough to get you backing away. The back of your calf catches on the bunk bed behind you before your shoulders follow suit. You’re not close enough to duck and throw your weight at the man when he’s already swinging the axe to the right and in your direction. Your heart clenches painfully, and you manage to hold the harsh wheeze that rushes in and out all at once. 

Splinter’s have you jumping away, the axe had caught on the bedpost and lodged itself just enough to snag. The man was unwilling to abandon the weapon however, and when you locked eyes with him as he struggled, leaning away from you. He seemed just as rattled as you were. 

Trusting your defensive instincts you go on the offensive, you flipped your knife, blade resting along your forearm, you no longer wanted answers, something was telling you that you needed to shut this man down before he manages the same on you first. This was enough to send the greasy man back, abandoning his axe as he trips over one of the bed behind him. He’s quick to his feet however, and he’s kicking the flimsy bed, bones and all towards you.

You jump aside, and he’s already lunging at you. He seemed to be a step ahead of you in this exchange, you needed to change that. 

You swiftly dodge aside, your back was now to the table where that hooded corpse sat at, you knew it was there, somewhere, you were just surprised when it hit you square in the back. The urge to get out of reach of this man must have had you feeling like the table was trapping you. 

Thankfully it gives, and you’re rolling off the corner of it. Your relentless attacker practically throws the table out of his way. You realize you’re going to run out of space to backup if you don't do something, so you extend your arm, swishing your blade that - at the moment, seemed too short. 

He moves his torso out of the path, jumping back slightly but it wasn't enough to get him to give you more room. 

You grab a candle from the shelf above the fireplace, it was old and brittle, but you threw what did not crumble in your desperate grasp at him. He flinches, and you move to swing, aiming for a variety of vulnerable places.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you off balance, his opposite hand was positioned in the most ill-fated way, for you at least.

A large hand is sent into the side of your face, you weren't sure if it was a fist or merely the back of his hand, but damn did it hurt. Your nerves twitch and give under the pressure, the knife you relied on fell with it. 

You stumble back, proud of yourself for keeping on your feet. The pride is short lived when your violently being bashed against the brick fireplace. With the wind knocked from you, and the deep aching from the back of your head, you braced your arms forward, just enough to prevent him from pulling you away. Both of you were fighting the fight of strength now, you were giving him a run for his money too. You would lift your leg to drive it back down into his knee. He was smarter than most however, he knew his way around avoiding that. 

The winner was determined when he reached back for a bottle, the big emerald that caught your eye earlier was now much too close for comfort. 

With a swift downward motion, the thick glass is dashed and broken into the side of your temple. 

Your body goes involuntarily limp at this; knees buckling, head dropping downwards and your arms go unresponsive. Your vision was blurred but your retained some sort of consciousness, as you fought to push the man off, you felt only confusion when your body capitulated for you. And just as your nerves began to twitch with life, the craggy hand was at your throat, squeezing and pulling you forward just to force you back. 

You felt only a sharp pain when your eyes finally ceased to open. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When you woke the air was being squeezed from your core, your eyes could only make out the repetitive line of train tracks, and your ears clueing you to the rhythmic sound of hooves against the hard dirt below. With your body far too debilitated to spur that adrenaline into your system again, you couldn't find the energy to identify and weigh your options before you were being sent back into oblivion.

A sharp force knocks more air from you. As your lids struggle to lift, you can see the natural awning swaying gently in the wind. Bright green leaves catching the rays of the early afternoon sun. Such a beautiful sight you thought, until the keen pain across your lower back bites at you for your attention. 

       Lowly groaning is of no choice of your own. The low snicker you hear somewhere beyond your vision has you pooling all your energy into lifting your head from the mud to find the source. 

Eyes falling upon that fiendish hombre from earlier, you scold yourself for thinking you could have magically been ridden of this nuisance. Briefly, you begin to mentally abuse yourself for even being in this situation, but, you push those thoughts aside when your legs are being lifted up. Gritting your teeth as your body goes querulous, you offer some resistance, just enough to roll over on your face. Which you weren't sure was going to be any better than having your hands being dug mercilessly into your spine. 

Clamping your eyes shut you volition yourself to stop thinking so much about things that won't matter and being to investigate the situation where you could as your cheek scratched against rocks and mud into the building with no floor support.

Your neck begins to ache at the pressure of your bending spine prying against the muck you were being dragged through. So you do what comes natural, and you thrash some more, your effort was fruitless of course. Being weak and half hogtied didn't give you many options.

Darting around your eyes are scanning evidence of who owned this abode, you could tell the down-to-earth shack was inhabited, there was grass strung up from the ceiling and lying in bunches across the floor. Your eyes trailed past a cabinet stocked with food and other supplies, not to mention the dishes that were both clean and dirty.

Suddenly you’re being yanked up by your abductor, with a resistant-heavy frown on your face you make no move to help. Instead, you try and make yourself substantially heavy, more than you have ever before. Didn't do you no good to be wishful about it. He throws you onto a wicker chair at the head of the dining table with little to no difficulty. 

As he walks around you and to where your arms were he’s giving you a haughty grin before he’s jerking the restraints at your wrists tighter and fastening your torso to the back of the chair you were placed on. Still having no energy to break out of this situation you had to be smart about this. So you begin to ponder weaknesses, to start, was this his home?

Shaking your head in disappointment, you look around the room, eyeballing any possible escape. A moment goes by, and you're cursing internally, wondering how a house could only have one door and one window. The tug you feel around your waist has you tuning into the presence behind you again. He was getting terribly touchy, reaching his hands up and around the front of your stomach to remove your holster and satchel. As he pulls away and tosses your gear on the table in front of you and walks across the span of the table, he’s giving you a smile that confirms that the man was instead, just cocky. 

You watch silently as he gets comfortable, removing his own gear and taking the one other chair and bringing it just to sit by the other corner of the table next to you. He wasn’t talking. He wasn’t giving you any indication of what he was doing and why he so forcefully brought you here. 

And for a while the both of you just stared at each other, you would give him this narrowed, and cautious expression and he would simply shift in his chair, returning your gaze with an annoyingly neutral state. 

When he suddenly sat up and removed his knife, your spine was shifting straight up with your feet digging tensely into the mud under you. When he followed the action by taking out an apple from his bag, you eased a little. And when he begins to lean back and peel the skin off of this bright pink fruit, you’re more than confused with that salted tinge of anger to accompany it. 

Then your confusion subsided, a sly grin took its place. This was not this man’s home. The half-eaten apple that had been on the table before the both of you got there told you that this man was here to induce harm in some way. He had no reason cut into a new apple, even if he did manage to make good time before he started to track you down the hours before. The half-eaten apple was far too fresh to have come from anything he could offer. 

This comforted you more than you expected. How unusual it was to be comforted by the fact this person was here to hurt you, rather than being here to propose some more profound process. Aggression was always easier to manage and predict than some of the more complex reactions, you felt you had some control in this situation now. 

A slice of apple is offered to you, lifted to your lips, you give the bite a disgusted look. Looking down at your lap as you take the wedge between your teeth. You don't begin to mash it up with your teeth however. Lazily you roll your head back and lock eyes with your abductor and with a careful breath you lunch the piece into the man’s face. The reaction you get is innocent as he flinches and becomes noticeably upset like he’s unsure that actually happened. 

You’d have more sympathy for the man if he didn't just bash you against fireplace some time ago. A smile finds your face, teeth clenched as you observe his reaction. 

And as the man jumps to his feet, he uses his momentum from lifting himself up to send the back of his hand across the side of your face. 

It stings, sure, that dull ache across your cheekbone brought some blip of anger. But, you already anticipated this, thankfully you weren’t spitting out your own blood already, you did despise that iron taste. Regardless, you were going to get an answer out of this man, even if your hands were literally tied. You knew people got angry, and they would make mistakes, and they would start slipping up and saying what's really on their mind. You were a victim of that fact as well, that’s what had you so comfortable around it.

You bare your clenched teeth, “Say something, will you? A mute bounty hunter would make for a piss-poor experience on my part, just get to the damn point!” You hiss. 

He grumbles, reaching over across the table to his bag and pulling out a rolled up parchment. Quickly he straightens the worn paper and shoves it into your face. 

Leaning back to get a better look, It was a wanted poster for Dutch van der Linde. After you've got a good look he slaps the paper down on the table, you ignore the way it jumps back into its rolled form and falls off the table, the man was looming over you anticipatory in his anger. Your eyes widen at the possibility that this man really was mute. 

You observe the man’s response a moment, before slowly going into your thoughts. What made him think you had anything to do with Dutch? You were always so careful, never once did someone accuse you of being part of the gang, the gang itself refused to admit you as part of their family besides a select few. 

Your words find you first, “I get it now, you were sent by the Pinkerton’s weren't you?”  you ask. And when the man slumps into his shoulders, you don't give him time to really react before you’re continuing. “That’s right,” your body began to rattle with mirth, “I butchered their dog but didn't have the manpower to spare on their hunt for Dutch, so they send people like you after possible loose ends.” The laugh you fought off rips through your throat, sending your head back as you continue your brick batting. “You don't even speak, they didn't even try!”

Too lost in your amusement upon your discovery, the heavy blow to your diaphragm cuts your laughter short with a painful correction. Internally you admit that it hurt more than you expected, even as you tried to snag an intake of air your breath wheezed and rattled. 

When the air finds you, you croak out, “I don't know!”

You watch as the mute hunter begins to roll up his sleeves, looking ready to strike you again as his eyes raise, questioning if you wanted that to be your final answer. 

The silent question has you solidifying your loyalties. Telling anyone where Dutch was hiding, no matter how much you detested that man you would never put those you cared for in danger. You knew once they found him they would show no mercy to him or anyone. They would be in the jaws of the law, even if you did not agree with them to follow Dutch so vividly, it didn't matter, because they were people who never deserved to be mutilated regardless of the bad things they did. 

The knife the man held earlier is brought down right between your legs where your eyes had drifted to. The action has you jumping, and tensing up, returning your attention to the somehow demanding man. 

“You could bushwhack me till the end of time, but that ain’t going to get me to know something that I don't know.” You hiss. 

The strike to the side of your face hurt way more than any of the others had. The fist had been swung so hard the chair you were strapped to almost toppled over, if not for the firm hand that grabbed your shoulder and kept you grounded. Your head was beginning to pound, and your eyes were going cross. The sensation of wanting to sleep starts to take you, some bitter side of you tried to break and confess already. You would never. Not if it means sending people after Arthur. 

Slowly turning your head to face the man again, you stare straight into his eye and give him the same response you know he didn't want. The determination of wanting to protect Arthur kept that scared shiver in your voice at bay. Your frustration and anxiety kept your jaw clenched, so painfully tight you contemplated trying to relax it, if not for the next onslaught from his fist. 

Your vision was shriveling up to tunnels, you kept reminding yourself that things could be worse, chanting like a hammer in your head, trying to keep your cool enough to send yourself more time. Your lips part for a gasp, eager to breathe through the pain to the flesh across the bones under the skin of your face. The iron that drips past your teeth and greets your tongue has you sneering, never once losing eye contact with your abuser. 

“They didn't even accept me when I was with them, they left me, and I don't know where to begin looking nor do I want to!” the amour propre in your voice was thicker than you anticipated to have let out. Your words weren’t all true, but relating them to how you felt made your tone appeal to the man’s search for acceptable evidence.

This has the man grabbing your hair and yanking your head back. You bare your teeth at him, never looking away from his orbs even as he readied a blade just over your eye. The discomfort of blood from your broken nose oozing its way down the back of your throat has you swallowing.

“What is it you’re so determined over anyways?” You jeer, narrowing your own form of dagger’s into him, “You’re afraid to go back with nothing, aren't you? You’re too chicken shit to admit you’ve caught the wrong person.” you add,  body jerking against your restraints, your emotions were beginning to slip away from you, and you weren't focused enough to reign them back in. 

With the man’s own patience dwindling he lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat before he drops you and turns his back to the fireplace across the small house. 

Taking the time he was giving you by fighting with getting a fire started, you twist your wrists, ignoring the burning across your sensitive skin. With enough adrenaline now, you unconsciously believed there was a way out. You could stand up from the chair and carry it with you as you ran out the front door, but, you would be stuck to this chair trying to sprint from a man who was without such hindrances. 

Anger begins to rise the more you stared at the man’s back, words like ‘coward’ and ‘fool’ began to ring in your head. Through your heated gaze, you make out that the brilliant blue cabinet to the left of the room had shifted, the door to its cupboard was inching open at an antagonisingly slow rate. You were startled a moment, realizing there was a living creature inside there this whole time. 

And the sight that presents itself has you putting your whole situation into a different perspective, and it was making you sick. 

It was a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. When she met your eyes, she jumped a little, hiding behind the door. You fearfully looked to the man across the room, he was still busying himself with getting a fire started. So you looked back, nervously your eyes bounced between three things, the man, the gun, and the girl. 

What was she doing? She should just stay in there, the man was none the wiser of her being there, she should just stay!

And as the young girl began to creep out, her eyes darted to your gun on the table. Her bare feet were dirtied, mud plastered against her snow-white skin, the red hair she sported had her lighting up the dingy room. 

As she tiptoed across, closing the space between her and the gun, she quietly tries to remove it from the holster. The black metal looked so foreign in her hands, it didn't belong there, yet the way she picked it up made it seem like she was greeting an old friend. Your eyes are darting back to the hunter, rising to his feet.

Gritting your teeth, your hands tug at your restraints, eager to intervene on what was about to happen. It made you desperate not being able to jump between the two. 

When the man’s eyes lazily fell to the young girl, he was springing forward. 

A sharp yelp to your left had your nerves jumping, you rocked back on the chair, and used your foot to force the dining table between the two. The corner hits the man square in the groin, he recoils to the floor a bit, before he’s angrily flipping the table over and out of the way. Still cradling himself on the floor with one knee down.

You were running out of options with the way your hands fruitlessly fought against their impediment. The girl whimpered and made this scared noise as she ran behind you fretfully, her neck buried between her shoulders as they raised around her head, the pistol of yours nestled dangerously in her small hands as she aimed forward.

       You shook your head at the sight, you didn't want her to experience something like that no matter how old she was, your mind only told you that she was too young, and you needed to stop it.

"No!" You hissed at her. And she flinched, looking at you, and unconsciously the gun followed. Looking down void of the barrel made your throat clamp shut, the visual was all too familiar, and it made you paralyzed with fear.  


The man was furious, noticeably caught off guard, but he continued to storm after her. 

Time was running out, and so you gave up on your attempt to free your hands. You rocked forward and tried to walk on your feet. The chair was frail enough, surely you could bust it somehow. You shook that thought from your head as the man was closing in on the red-headed girl. 

Quickly as you could, you charged, you were hunched over from the chair still secured around your torso, but you didn't let something like that stop you. 

Shoulder first you drove yourself against him, anywhere really, just looking to pin him to the wall, or knock him off balance. You manage successfully, however, as he’s looking at you with a terrifyingly calm exterior you pause. Well, you didn't really think you’d get this far. 

His attention was on you now, and you figured, maybe that was your plan all along? He finds his feet after he lifts the critter trap from overtop of him, throwing it to the ground and busting it only demonstrated his annoyance. He was now storming over to you, your thoughts were stuttering, and you only managed to back away. 

He took one long stride before his knee collided with your already bruised face.

The force has you falling backward with the chair still trapping you in its shackles. You shook nausea that was forming in your gut, blinking to rid yourself of that dizzy state of disembodiment. 

With the red glow that filled the room behind the large dark figure that loomed over you, a vengeful glint from your attacker's hand sent you panicking. The knife that had been inches from puncturing your eye was coming down on you in a new way. The fear inside you swelled as your hands were still useless to help. With a tight squeeze from your lungs, you release a sharp noise, neither a scream nor a cry before you jut your leg forward. You catch his weight, his chest planted on the underside of your boot. His momentum is being thrown aside before his knife could be plunged into your chest. 

And with a loud crack, the chair around you splinters under the weight of you both. 

Your hands still remained confined however, but you now had a full range of your spine. Rolling over you are quick to your knees. But the mute was faster. 

The bright light that outlined the rickety door to the outside was your only clue. The one desperate clue you needed to figure out what you would do next. 

So you charged again, you wanted him out of this closed space, you needed outside. He responds not as you would like, the door flies open, but his back lands straight against the support for the archway, and the interruption has both of you flinching from the jarring sensation. 

You keep with your determination however, dropping your head under his arms to push him away, he seems to thrash some more, digging his elbow directly into the center of your spine. 

Painfully gritting your teeth, you refuse to give. You had too much at stake to let some deep pain stop you. 

And like the silence before the guillotine drops, the ringing in your ears has your breath stopping. 

The man lets out a death rattle before slumping against you. You quickly jut away from the unusual contact. 

Ever so carefully, you look up from the body, peering over your shoulder at the only source you knew of that could have emptied a round into the attacker. 

With the combination of feeling trapped along your wrists, and the taste of blood accompanied by the tremendous aching all throughout your body, you were already expecting the worst as you gazed upon the girl in the corner of the room. 

Her brow trembled with confusion and anger, the gun in hand pointed in your direction as it smoked out what was left of its previous shot. When the both of you locked eyes, she raised the gun at you. Your body stiffened, gradually straightening as your paranoia was screaming at you that you needed to snuff out your threat or run. 

When she lowered your gun, you thought to relax a second, but then surprise took her face, and you were quick to turn around. Before you could get a good look at what was rushing you from behind, your arm is viciously grabbed. You're thrown into the mud just outside the door again, your head bounces from the dense forest floor, the sharp bite to your spine from where your bound wrists dig into your lower back has you crying out. A groan of dread at the unnecessary treatment. 

What was it now?

The body that straddles you, grabs your collar and lifts you just enough to bring their fist into your face. This one raked across your eye. You should have been accustomed to pulling yourself back together after so many blows to the head, but you found it only made you more tired of trying. 

One eye was beginning to swell, you couldn't notice the difference as your eyes strained to see past the obstruction, the face you saw above you also looked scarcely familiar. 

What fucked up situation did you find yourself in? You wondered, having only just left camp a few hours ago and you were already having your brains beaten from your skull, what did you do wrong again? 

One or two more blows to your ruined face and the woman above you throws you into the ground. You lull your head to the side, coughing out the new abundance of blood that seated itself on your tongue. 

The sound of a rifle being lifted above you has you peaking at the sight. You were too tired to expect anything other than more pain.

“What are you doing, what do you want with us?!” The woman shrieks above you. This only makes you angry.

With a broken growl, you retort, “I don't want to be here any more than you wanting me here.” The blood that drapes across your teeth spits out with your breath that escaped past your clenched teeth.

You writhed under the weight of the woman overtop of you, uncomfortably twisting as you tried to find a comfortable way to lay your hands so they would stop digging into your back. You finally started to piece together why she looked so familiar with the way the butt of the rifle she clung to so fiercely was cranked up above, ready to be forced down like into your pathetic existence.

“No - No! Mamma!” a smaller voice calls out, you see the redhead come over the woman’s shoulder, snagging the mother’s attention, “I saved them, they’re tellin’ the truth.” she adds. You make out between the silence that both of them were looking down at you. And with a loud gasp, something like a squeak, the older woman, is laying down her rifle, a hand wrapped around her gaping mouth. 

“Oh! Oh my good lord!” she breaths and your mind reels lazily. Yeah, now you remembered her. “I’m so sorry!, I didn't -” She’s ripping herself from overtop of you, reaching down to lift you up by your shoulders.

The relief off your back has you letting out a pained groan, “Never did get your name, miss.” you explain, your words coming out ground and thoroughly beat.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats regretfully.

You breathe better as you’re being helped up from the mud, wincing at the swelling that was agitating every twitch of your facial expression. “Your name is ‘So Sorry?’” you quiz with wonderment aside from your obvious discomfort.

“Er, it’s Fiona, Fiona Greenlock.” she corrects like an afterthought, “I never did thank you and your friend properly for savin’ my daughter’s life.” Her words have your eyes or what was left of them flickering over to the pale girl who still held very tightly to your gun. It was like you were watching an alligator when you had visited Saint Denis all those years ago. Never knew when it was going to strike at you as it peered at you with those unyielding yellow eyes.

The woman’s hands at your restraints pull you back to the conversation, “Wasn’t nothin’ like that,” you drawl noting that the exaggeration was a likely case considering how healthy the red-headed child looked. “Besides, you thanked us twice already before didn't ya?” With the release of the once incessant binds around your wrist, you almost throw yourself forward into the mud again. Rolling the sockets in your shoulders before gingerly cupping your face, this was going to hurt for a long while. 

“Not as I should have, please, come inside.” Fiona beckons, taking her child under her arm and disappearing back into the dark cave that was their abode. 

You hesitated. You dreaded to go back in that room, you would have been on your way if not for the fact all your belongings were in there. When the woman has their only chair out for you, picking it up from the floor where it was knocked over in the tussle, she gestures to you, silently asking you to sit. 

Having realized your body was not going to do much traveling in this condition with every step you took had you taking the woman on her offer. In the one remaining chair you leaned your head back, the blood from your nose was coming down still, but not in such large quantity now. 

The soft gasp from her lips has your attention, looking to her you realize she’s investigating the body of your abductor. Your nose would have flared at the body if not for the pain it was in. 

“Did you know this man?” she asks you, gingerly moving closer to examine the body, with the way she hesitated you could tell she was holding some small bout of sympathy. 

If only she’d seen what the man was like when he was alive, you thought to yourself. 

“Sorta,” you drone, “He didn't do much talkin’ ‘sides with his fist I suppose.” The three of you looked upon the lifeless vessel, “He probably woulda’ killed me if it wasn't for your girl here, steppin’ in when she did.”

Fiona’s head is snapping back, eyes ablaze with something that had your eyes widening as much as allowed.

“You did what?” she snaps towards the child. When your eyes trail over to the girl, you can see the redhead was just as shocked and upset. 

“What?” she almost tosses your pistol on the counter like she was getting rid of the evidence, but then her eyes flicker to you, and suddenly she wasn't sure what to do with it, “I was protecting myself! And savin’ this no-gooder while I was at it!” she counters, pointing a finger towards you for emphasis. 

Your eyebrows raise slightly, being called a 'no-gooder' by a child was something you weren’t accustomed to. You ponder how you feel about it yet remain quiet. 

“Who taught you how to shoot?” Fiona questions, the woman had definitely lost her composure now, you could understand, in some distant way when you tried to imagine being in her shoes. 

The child is crossing her arms, “Pa did,” before matter-of-factly continuing, “we never told you cause we knew you’d act like this” 

Huh, interesting way of doing things, your realized your nose had finally ceased in its leaking, wiping the blood from your hand onto your pants you reach forward to the girl. Sheepishly, she meets your eyes and realizes what you're asking for. Lifting the gun to you, she has it ripped from her hands as you’re standing up and finding your holster and satchel to stow away the gaudy pistol.  

You glanced at the mother, she seemed to be having an argument in her head, she wasn't sure if she was supposed to be angry, or hurt, relieved even? At least, that’s what you assumed, after all, you didn't know this woman from Adam. 

In the moment of silence between the two, you quietly made your way over to your abuser, getting a good look at him before you were grabbing ahold of his arms and dragging him out the front door. 

“No no, that won't do, you need to sit down and rest,” the woman speaks up to you, waving a hand at you to shoo from your task. “Allow me, please it’s the least I can do after..well..” she points to her nose, giving you a look. 

You drop the body’s arms, giving a flat expression to the woman. What was it about these two that refused to sugar coat anything. 

“I'm fine.” You murmur, careful not to take anything they were saying to heart. “I can clean up my own messes.” 

“Let me help then,” she interjects. 

You watched the woman approach the corpse, hesitantly, the way she wiped off her hands on her vest and rolled up her sleeves, you didn't even need to look at her face to know she was uncomfortable.

“You ever done this before?” you ask quietly, cautious not to sound too accusatory as you’re lifting up the man by the arms, and the two of you are carrying him out the door. 

“I - Well…” her voice was trembling, the swallow heard from her throat makes you nervous as well. “Once.”

Musing, you make a noise in the back of your throat that was mostly one of acceptance. You wondered who it was, was it the woman's husband?

The two of you throw the man down some ways away from the front of the door, your eyes squint as they're trying to adjust to the light shining down past the canopy. You didn't think much of it at the time, but you watched an abnormal amount of wildlife scamper off from the house. 

“It was to protect my daughter and me.” The woman explains rather hurriedly, you realized the look on her face was that of a guilty one.

You looked her in the eye, “I ain’t no judge, I get it.” you clarify. The gathering of something thick in the back of your mouth as you looking away to spit it out, the discomfort you held had you looking to the corpse and offering it a swift kick with your boot. Just letting the deceased man know his efforts were not appreciated.

“Not to pry,” Fiona begins, “do you do this sorta thing often?”

You knew where this was going, “Not often.”

“Does it get easier?”

You snap your eyes to the woman’s expression, fully aware you were now getting defensive, “What has you assumin’ I’m comfortable with killin’?” You were beginning to ponder if this woman was watching you even before that evening at the beach.

The sharp reaction you gave has her holding her hands up in front of her like she was trying to soothe an angry dog. “I intend no insult, I just, well, I guess it’s been a weighing question on me,” her eyes flicker over behind you. 

Turning your head to look, you see the pale girl hanging out the front door. 

You turn your attention back to the space between you and Fiona, your eyes were scanning the body as you thought to yourself. Very much stuck between two possibilities, you could argue the woman was out to get you, evidence like being there at the dock, being here with someone who wanted answers and would quickly kill for those answer, and her daughter who claimed to have learned her marksmanship from a father you had no lead on. 

Or, you could argue this woman was just out to survive. If the lack of presence of a husband was anything to go buy you could assume it was just them, judging by the amount of chairs and the small bed, the two must have been on their own. And this world was unforgiving to those sort of situations. If fate took care of those who were wronged by sinners, you figured you’d be in a great place by now. You couldn’t imagine what this mother had to do to survive. Actually, you could, but what you couldn't imagine was taking care of a child on top of that. 

To be abandoned, and the drive to succeed for another would be enough you thought, look at what you were doing now, you wanted to succeed for Arthur, you could relate on that front. Perhaps if she could push through anything for whom she cherished and swore to protect even with all that agony she endured, you could too. 

That’s right, you needed to stay focused. As much as you wanted to run back to that cheeky gunslinger of yours, the bigger picture was that even if you did, you wouldn't be able to do any of the things you wanted to do with this nugatory rock around your waist.

With a sigh you speak up, “I need to get goin’.” You even lift your head to look for Ace, you doubt wherever you ended up the horse would be able to hear you, you’d have to find Emerald ranch first. “Thank you for saving my life, young lady.” You offer sincerely to the girl behind you, before your awkwardly stepping away from their home. Having refocused yourself, you were now more than eager to get back to your task that you had been rudely interrupted in. 

With a jarring sensation a hand at your arm has you wincing, such force was reopening that recently shocked tension under your skin. Your brows furrow as you turn to look at the hands that were wrapped around you. Fiona’s orbs dug into your with desperation, fear even. 

“Please,” she utters timidly. You stop to move closer to her. Her hands were still wrapped around your forearm with a needy grip. 

You wait for her to continue, but, she only stares at you worrying her lip. “What?” you ask quietly, unsure yourself if you wanted to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was getting reference material for writing this chapter, no kidding, every 2 minutes I had a group of bounty hunter's after Arthur while I'm just standing there trying to examine the location. Friendly Reminder: Maybe don't obtain the "Bountiful" achievement till you get towards the end of the game. I'll have to find a way to get pictures on here to share the craziness that was. But, I look forward to seeing you guys again! Sorry, this one was so late. Thank you again for the help too.


	10. My Pearl of the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still, don't know what I could do about it. Dutch made it very clear the other night, explaining that ‘We don't want people who don't want to be here,’ before rambling off about how loyalty and dependability are what matters.
> 
> If you woulda asked me a few years ago, I'd say the same thing. But, well, life is more complicated than that sometimes ain’t it?
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coheed and Cambria conjured a wonderful song called Pearl of the Stars. I found the name fitting for this Chapter. If you haven't heard it already I recommend you give it a listen.  
> I think this Link will work;  
> https://youtu.be/2UtfwyNoqFA  
> Let me know what you think! 🤺  
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

       Been a long few days. Longer than anything I remember ever having. Even that time spent being Colm’s hanging ploy. Granted, I didn't do much thinkin’ about time to know for sure until Hosea told me about it when I made it back.

       When I made that journey back, I remember thinkin’ I’d get that chiding sermon from Grey. Some part of me was looking forward to it. When I arrived though Grey was very quiet.

       Grey had up and left sometime that very night while I was unconscious. I asked everyone if Grey had said anything before they went off again, Uncle included. Grey left without a word this time. I don't know if I should be angry, or worried.

Maybe both, if that’s possible.

Still, don't know what I could do about it. Dutch made it very clear the other night, explaining that ‘We don't want people who don't want to be here,’ before rambling off about how loyalty and dependability are what matters.

If you woulda asked me a few years ago, I'd say the same thing. But, well, life is more complicated than that sometimes ain’t it?

Micha, that weasel, he keeps putting thoughts in Dutch’s head, off the wall sorta thoughts, explaining how Grey and Gray are really the same, and that I had allowed a turncoat into the gang, telling him not to be surprised if something went wrong. 

Grey ain’t like that. The lost soul wasn’t even here when we were dipping our toes into this feud. Like my face, I believe Grey has an unfortunate name.

Dutch has some unresolved dispute with me now, telling me that I’ll take on the consequences for my actions. He didn't say it, but I also don't need him to with the way he’s glaring at me from his tent.

He’s high-strung right now, with the Pinkertons, the Feud, Colm. The list goes on, ain’t no talking to him no more, he just gets quick to anger. Him and Molly ain’t been on best of terms as a result.

Dutch ain’t the only who's been short. Hosea too, just the other day, Bill being his usual drunken self, Hosea pulled his gun on the fool. Told Bill to go do something productive and be a contributing member to - well his words made it seem like he said to life in general. After the fact, Hosea sat back down and returned to writing away in his journal, he told me he didn't have time for fools anymore. And that cough that’s been following him around, he doesn't talk to anyone about it, but I think most if not all of us are refusing to admit the truth. Hosea seems to speak like he's running out of time nowadays.

More than not I find myself agreeing with Hosea on choices regarding reason. Not sure who is changing, maybe all of us are. I wouldn’t say it aloud though, I'm holding on for Dutch’s promises, empty or not. It’s something to work towards.

John seemed to believe the fortune everyone’s been sniffing for could be found in the Braithwaite stables. So, foolishly, Javier and I tagged along. Stole a couple horses, which, were not anywhere near the price of what John had anticipated and had us excited for. All I can say then, If I should fall, take up my horse first, he has carried me through hell and back.

Then, not long after, I went and helped Sean, - poor kid.

He and his Irish tongue went to work getting the moonshine and myself into Caliga Hall without suspicion. A real natural he was. Makes me that much more aware of how many silver tongues I know, watching them in action makes me wonder if I took up the wrong cleverness. The both of us got the job done though, the night was lit up with flames from the ground up, the number of guards there made me stop and appreciate the damage we were committing to this feud.

It’s been a while since my last entry in this thing, a lot has happened that much is clear.

Lenny and I went to this, Shady Belle mansion, I think it was called. A hideout for the raiders of Lemoyne or what was left of them I guess. They had quite the stockpile of Dynamite. Well myself and the boy made quick work of them. We both agreed it was a nice place if we should ever need to relocate as we did with Overlook. 

Eventually, we did a sweep for anything useful, then headed back only to have them interrupt us. Didn't stop us of course, Lenny has a good head on his shoulders, like Hosea he’s either reading or doing something foolish with the rest of us degenerates. He could be so much more.

Just like Sean could have. The Irish kid was annoying in some places, always trying to get me to admit something about race or another. Maybe even drudging up stories of him and his father for the thousandth’ time.

Then right in front of me, some foul creature tore into his head from the rooftop.

We had been doing so well. I thought we were done with all that, death and dismay when we came down those mountains. A waste, he was one of the better of us lot, in his own obnoxious way. He tried to make things fun for me, I know he thought I was a grumpy old man, his efforts weren’t unwelcome. I shoulda told’em that much, before, well.

I just don't understand things anymore. There are so many at camp who can be so much more than what this god awful life has to offer them it saps them from being rid of all this pain. 

Marybeth, she really just wants a room she can call her own to be free to pursue her writing. 

Lenny, he could easily find an honest job with how much he reads, and how much he actually understands of the world around him. 

I ain't too sure what Jenny wants to do, but I know she isn't stuck in a place like the rest of us, she could still grow yet.

Then, of course, you have Marston, I’ve heard Hosea over and over Tell the boy he needs to gather up Abigail and Jack and get out. Even to the point, Hosea grows unbearably frustrated at Marston’s resistance to change. The fool, he’s hooked on something, Ain’t sure if its denial or if its something like he has to prove or what, but, you can't make someone change. That's for damn sure.

I just hope, if its money we’re after, we can get it and get out before anyone else has to die.

I know a lot of us have been long committed to this life, there ain't no going back from the things we’ve done. Yet each night, I wish to God he’d let Grey, rest.

To watch someone who has so much compassion for the world around them be weighted down by something so vile as to see harm to the person who hurt them. I understand it, I do. I just, wish Grey would take all that I had to give instead of being so hell-bent on doing it alone. I know I told them that they needed to leave it behind them, and when I asked if they would be trying it again and they responded with no - a part of me sunk.

Like I was failing. Now Grey has left again. And this time I know they have no intention of coming back. 

I miss, Grey.

I don't want to find them, only to have to bury a body.

I've been really reluctant to return to camp with the recent happenings, I think I just needed to sort out my thoughts, do some mourning of my own. In my absence I’ve been finding information that has me, perturbed, for lack of better terms. It makes me feel like I need to find Grey even more, regardless if Grey wants me to find them or not. Maybe If I could convince them to come back, things could be different, at least, that way I’ll know if Grey is safe or not.

I want to help Grey, give everything I have and more. I know its foolish of me to have the thoughts I do. I didn't think much of those thoughts until, well, I spent almost a week straight trying to find where Grey went off to before we fled Horseshoe Overlook.

Then I practically stumbled into the bath they were having without a care in the world, and I foolishly ripped them from the water. I don't think I’ve stared with such - - need, in a long while, as embarrassing as that is to write out. To have seen Grey that way, It awakened a perception I didn't know I would have. Then it made everything else before that make sense. The reason I was always so eager to hear what Grey had to say, even though I knew it would be some mocking comment or the way I’d catch Grey staring at me with an admiration that made me pause. I don't know why I thought any of these signs Grey had given me were anything but endearing.

At the lakehouse, I realized I couldn't bear to put Grey in a threatening situation, the fact Grey was covered in the blood of another man was proof I couldn’t always control that. And even when I wanted to take those luring lips, the thought of not being able to protect the very person who would have held my heart - It made me terrified, and angry all at once. I comforted myself with the way Grey seemed just as willing to share in that - intimate moment. Maybe that’s what has me so confused as of late, unsure of my goals anymore, It’s like I'm being pulled in different directions.

I’ve heard a lot of strange things, between Valintine and Strawberry, most of which I'm either scared to admit or see as impossible. Things such as news of a gang planted itself. O’driscolls muttering angrily about how a new nuisance has encroached on their territory. More information other than that has been patchy, some call them, Pheonix Back Jackals, Pheonix Chasseurs, or, some real off the wall one like Lex Talionis. I think it's latin, ain't too sure.

Mostly I've heard subdued things like a small group committing some minor robbing here or there that doesn't include anyone getting shot, which is a relief. But, then I hear about some violent butchering as a result of some shady gathering. I sweat to even think about what Grey has fallen to or the company they keep.

What if this is just how Grey really is? 

Surely it’s not the case, I watched that lost soul hesitate on the life of a deer, that has to mean something, if not for the way Grey treats me like I’m not some mad fool or the way Grey reacted after defending themselves against that Pinkerton. 

I think we know the pain we each hold in ourselves, I think that’s what makes us so comfortable around each other. 

But if I’m wrong, and word of this monstrosity is right, hell, I don't know what to do.

We need to talk.


	11. Run me like a River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You choked, wanting to get over as quickly as you could to keep them from falling into the rapids. Ace flinches below you at your sudden change in positioning, he was waking up now, the commotion ahead of you both had caught his attention, and he too was now backing up.  
> Flicking over to the big-bodied Bay Roan Ardennes that was throwing its head, the horse was in obvious pain as the bit dug into its mouth. The city-looking woman was dressed in frilly shades of red, and blonde hair.  
> “Oh my,” she squeaked, the half-heartedness in her tone has you quick to draw your pistol, thumb already drawing back the hammer. When her eyes met yours, “Ah ah!” she warns, pulling back on the hammer of her revolver she had aimed towards you. “Hands up, off the horse.” She commands.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not positive about what happened with the formatting for this Chapter. Also, I might have missed a few things, ah, format-wise, I tried to make it, legible. But I also know I've been staring at this screen for a good nine hours today I am expecting some mistakes. I hope you find it enjoyable though, it was fun to write. Chapter twelve is going to get startling I think. Or maybe it won't, its a filler I believe so really it could be one of two very different things. I have to refuel and look through my notes before I start, I'm sure I have a sticky note lying around somewhere with some really fantastic idea for chapter twelve that I do not see right now.

       Pleasant and quiet.  
       That’s what it was.  
       The afternoon sun was stretching across the stage, cicadas and a variety of locusts’ were darting around outside, from grass to grass, trees to shrubs. You could hear faintly in the distance, pigs oinking and goats bleating just out at the barn.  
       Everything serene, until the individual sprinting towards the house that sheltered you have you thinking something, somewhere, was burning down.  
       Your lieutenant everyone called Fly, must've skipped the steps entirely and jumped onto the porch before busting into the room through the front door.  
       “Grey!” the man pants out, your eyes were already on him before he saw you sitting calmly at your desk, “I saw ’em!”  
       Your hands grip onto your pencil a fraction tighter, “Who?”  
       You watch as the man takes in some more air, it takes longer than you want, and your anticipation only swells. “That, Van der Linde fella.”  
       Standing up sharply, “Show me, what do you mean?” You ask, following eagerly behind as he briskly bounds away.  
       “At the east end of the valley,” Fly adds, “I was standing watch on the south-west path, and I’m pretty sure I saw the fellow coming into the valley.”

 

 

       You think on his words a moment, worrying your lip and pick at the skin as the both of you dive down into a prone position on a rock that hung over the valley below. Both of you had pulled out your own pair of binoculars. The sun that was beating down on the both of you proved to be nothing but a slight sting on the back of your neck, you were far too curious about the information to pay anything else much mind.  
       Both of you spend a silent bit scanning the wilderness, “You sure it was Van der Linde?” you question, mostly eager to find out if it was Dutch, someone else from his gang, or Arthur.  
       “I think so, come riding in on some short white horse, recognized him from Blackwater,” Fly responds,  
       “Was it Dutch Van der Linde, or was it, Arthur Morgan?”  
       The man makes a noise in the back of his throat, unsure, “Mmm, I don't know, I just saw 'em before on the wanted dead or alive posters, I ain't looking to get caught alone with the man.” something in his voice made you believe he was just as curious as you.  
       A brief thought floats through your mind, the idea of Arthur being softer than he lets others believe brings a smile to your face, it’s quickly pulled away when you remember what it was like to have the man stare down the barrels of that shotgun he had to your head the moment which seemed so distant now.  
       “Arthur ain’t so bad when he knows you ain't-a threat.”  
       Your keen counterpart produces some hesitant noise at your words, “I’ll take your word for it, Grey.”  
       Another lull passes, and finally, you have the sense to speak out, “I’m not seeing him,” you frown.  
       “He’s here somewhere, right across the river is where I saw ‘em at.”  
       “Across-across? Or Across the belly?” you clarify.  
       “The belly -” the gasp that follows interrupts him, and he’s slapping your bicep, “Oh! There! Now he’s across-across, at the base of those cliffs over there.” he chirps almost excitedly.  
       You grumble out, eyes squinting harshly to try and scan the vague direction as quickly as possible, “Fly, work with me here…”  
       His excitement eases down, “Sorry,” he whispers, as he’s gently grabbing your binos and tilting them slightly, “you see ‘em yet?”  
       “One second,” you quietly breath out, eyes sifting through tree trunks and rocks.  
       “Right there, he’s at the river’s edge now.”  
       Your brows furrow with frustration, your forehead already aching as you struggle to find this o-so-obvious man.  
       Then all of it seems to fade away, “There he is…” you gasp, eyes busy as they track the Nokota horse that trudged through the deeper parts of the river. Both of them looked tired but not as tired as you'd seen them before. Arthur was leaning down to give his horse a bit of praise.  
       You could hear his soothing tone already, the very idea gifted your body with chills. His clothes were muddied, and that dirt ring around his leg from where the river had fallen across only made the rest of his body look worse. That almost bronzed hat of his reflected light at you as his head lifted to the rocks you laid on. It was like he was looking right at you. The sharp intake of air you steal steadies your racing heartbeat.  
       What did you feel that made it pound so hard?  
       “Who is it?” Fly asks, his tone severe and sharp. Like he was itching to put a stop to the gunslinger.  
       You could only smile, “That's Mr. Morgan.” from the distance you were at you couldn't quite read his expression as he continued to ride through the river to the other side. Your smile immediately faded at your reminder that you had no idea if Arthur was angry, searching for you on behalf of Dutch. You had been reminding yourself for the past few months that Arthur was deathly loyal to Dutch, that only solidified why you were doing what you were. The both of you led different paths, and neither of you was able to give it up.  
       “Do you need me to do anything?” Fly quizzes, still watching the man with you. The sigh that leaves you is unwilling.  
       “Not really, I'll take care of it. Could you stay here and keep an eye on him? I don't want him near the homestead.” You explain to him.  
       “You think he's going to do something?” His question has you sitting up from the ground.  
       “I don't know yet.” you rasp as you're jumping to your feet.  
       You turn your hustle to getting to your gear, racing across the distance of the main road to the homestead.  
       What had happened? You were so careful not to step on Van der Linde toes, did you mess up somewhere? You had been so strict with rules and values, it's impossible. And if it came down to it would you be able to do what was needed? What did that question even entail? It made your stomach churn at the thoughts alone.  
       “Mellonie,” you holler, “can you tack-up, Ace for me?” You call out towards the barn as you're making rushed strides up onto the porch of the house.  
       You hear a drawn-out affirmation from the preteen, still sassy as ever but you knew the girl would be willing to offer a hand anywhere she could.  
       Brushing past the front door your cut directly to the adjoining room to your wardrobe chest.  
       “Fiona!” You call, ripping open the chest, “I'll be back!”  
       Somewhere from the kitchen, you hear her ask, “What? Where are you going?” Rising to your feet as you throw on your duster, new, you might add before your words are shifting on your tongue.  
       “Mm,” you drawl, “Out,” you add as you're reaching down to fasten your holster's and search vividly for your pistol. It was always hidden under a pile of something. You favored the large Twin Axes over that gaudy pistol anyways, just a parting gift from your abusive abductor those months ago.  
       “Grey,” the voice behind you makes you jump, you must have missed what was said earlier. As you stow away your equipment and move to head towards the front of the house, you see Fiona with her arms crossed, giving you this angry look. “What do you mean, ‘out?’”  
       You're already brushing past her when you rub the back of your neck nervously, you weren’t really sure what to call it. You had no idea what would happen when you met with Arthur, you just knew you were anxious about it.  
       “I should be back tonight or tomorrow, I’m sure.” You explain, reaching for the door and letting in the afternoon light.  
       “You’re sure? You mean you don't know?” she juts back, and you can only make this low and unsure noise in the back of your throat before you're stepping outside. “Grey,” Fiona warns, the chiding tone that follows has you hastening your stride.  
       Just in time too, Mellonie made swift work of Ace, leading him to the front of the house her eyes look unimpressed, only as always.  
       You took Ace from her hand, and as you’re mounting up your mouth opens to speak, “Thank you, Mellonie,” you coo.  
       The young lady just waves her hand at you as she’s turning away to get back to whatever she was doing before you interrupted, “Yeah, yeah,” she retorts, still un-amused, but the tone in her voice assured you it wasn't that big of a deal.  
       “I’ll bring you back something nice, I promise,” you add as you’re directing Ace off, sending him forward with some urgency.  
       The both of you make quick work of the distance, and before long you’re approaching the cliff side. You ask him to ease up a bit. Your eyes flick to Fly who remained prone on the rock, eyes still trained to the valley below.  
       “Where is he at now?” you ask quietly, getting your binoculars out in the process.  
       Fly is quiet a moment, and that worries you before he’s speaking up again, “He’s just standing there, down the path here.” his tone was laced with confusion. And if you knew Fly, which you did, you knew confusion was something you rarely saw flying across his state of mind.  
       You couldn’t blame him either, because as you looked on, finding Arthur in your sights, you were just as perplexed. “Since when?” you ask.  
       That unsure noise again tickles your ears, “Couple moments ago.” Ace takes the liberty to shake, and you feel a blip of frustration as your positioning is jostled and you’re sent having to refocus your sights. “Oh, wait a minute, he’s getting off of his horse now.”  
       The two of you watch with a shared silence, both eagerly drinking in clues to what the man was doing next. A lull passes, and you part your lips with a sigh.  
       “Letting his horse graze,” You drawl notably deflated, “Did he see you?”  
       When Fly slowly looks up at you with his brows raised tight, you already know the answer before he’s letting the noise leave his throat, “Well…”  
       Staring hard down at him, you watch as he shrivels away from you, turning his gaze through his binoculars again. You simply release a snort of air, “Alright, I’ll be going.” you add. Fly looks to you expectantly. “You might not have to worry, but, well, you know…”  
       Your wingman gives you an affirming wave of the hand, “I’ve got you, Grey.”  
       You offer him a smile, “I know you do, I’ll be back shortly.” you express, just managing to keep your voice from trembling.  
       The bubbling in your chest splashed at the edge of your control, you felt bouts of shivers leaving your hands, and you knew you were nervous, yet you wanted to see him so bad, more than see, you wanted to feel him.  
       You allow Ace to move down the slope at his own pace, he’s gotten significantly better at walking the descent with the way the both of you had been working together. And a few kicked rocks here and there later, Ace takes comfort in finding even ground again, relaxing his neck forward and giving you that beautiful extended walk you felt more than saw.  
       As you lift your attention to your destination, your nerves jump at the sight. Getting closer and on even ground made Arthur that much more intimidating, with the way you knew he was eyeing you, even as that worn hat of his sheltered them from meeting your eyes. You can't read the man’s expression from here yet, so a few strides closer, you’re cautiously dismounting, and leading Ace the rest of the way. You get, but a few yards from him and his voice already have your defenses shaking at the roots.  
       “Grey.” Arthur says softly, more like he was testing the weight of it on his tongue than he was actually addressing you, “was wondering when you were going to come down from there.” He shifts on his feet a moment, turning more towards you with his hand resting lazily across the buckle of his belt. “Wasn’t too hurried to see what you had waiting for me up there.” he gestures to the rocks that were once watching him from, the brim of his hat lifted just enough for you to get a serious look from his orbs.  
       “You’re a smart man, Morgan, I’m sure you understand such defensive tendencies, especially when I ain’t sure what’s brought you here.”  
       Arthur makes a noise in the back of his throat, “Well, before we go any further, there are a few things we gotta hash out, Grey.”  
       Your nerves are roiling at a boil now, waiting for any excuse to explode as your instincts twitch to expect the unexpected. You remain unmoved as you explain your conditions, “I gotta know you ain't lookin' to kill me before we do,”  
       Arthur straightens up, his eyes narrowing at you, no longer was he hiding under that hat of his, you wanted to rid him of such an obstruction, and you did just that. Hand darting forward to snatch the article from his head before he could flinch out of arm's reach.  
       With your eyes meeting, you could tell he remained grave, and as he’s reaching forward to snatch the hat back, he lets it rest at his side instead of putting it back on. Which you’re thankful for.  
       “Kill you?” the snarl in his voice seemed barely contained and was threatening his composure, “What for? What did you do?”  
       His response has you relaxing a bit, his goals were clear that he wasn't here to do something but talk at least. But that made your words all that much more cumbersome to get out.  
       “Look, I’ve been real careful not to step on Dutch's toes, I know I ain’t welcome back there ever, but I haven’t done anything that’s the slightest degree of threatenin’ to him.”  
       Before you can continue, he’s reaching forward to you, abandoning his hat both of his callous hands are wrapping around your cheeks, lifting your eyes to him as he comes closer.  
       “Grey, listen to me,” his tone was pleading as it matched the expression on his face, “I didn't come all this way to talk to you about them, I came for you, I want to talk, from me to you, no one else.”  
       With your shoulders your guard dropped, realization opening a new perspective to this conversation. You had spent months assuming the worst of what life would send you, and often times it saved you and the people who trusted you. You were stuck in the way of making countless predictions based on practicalities and logical reasoning that was attuned towards surviving. What Arthur was asking of you spoke to that small voice that was forced down a long time ago.  
       Arthur was the most human one here in this instance, when had you stopped?  
       “Us?” you utter.  
       Just as quickly as they were there, Arthur is jumping from you, his hands recoiling like you were burning him. As you find his expression through your dazed vision, you see him worrying at the sight over your shoulder. Turning to look, that cold glint of a rifle’s scope loomed over the both of you. You didn't pay Fly much mind. However, you couldn’t say Arthur could do the same.  
       His expression looked pained, then falling confused as he rubbed at the back of his neck. You could tell he was uncomfortable. You relaxed tremendously at this, your eyes flicker down to his hat, gingerly lifting it from the dirt, you dust it off as if it were something fragile.  
       Arthur only watches with some quiet wish waiting to be conveyed. You offer him a reassuring smile, as you fit it on his head again. You fought with yourself, you couldn't decide if you liked him with or without out.  
       “Here’s how this is going to go,” you start, his brows raise curiously and only a tad surprised, no doubt not expecting you to be so pressing, “There is a mound of rock, north of Valentine.”  
       Arthur seems to focus with you, his expression becoming thoughtful with yours, “The one that borders the Cumberland forest?”  
       You nod, “Yeah, the one with all those rickety bridges.”  
       “I know of it,”  
       “We will have a nice little race. First one there gets to do all the questionin’.”  
       “A race?” Arthur quizzes, “Why?”  
       The slight dusting of warmth that tickles your cheeks betrays your serious and tall demeanor. You hadn’t been in touched with such giddy thoughts since the last time the both of you had an honest laugh.  
       “Since you picked me up in Valentine those weeks ago, I wanted to see who would make the better horseman.”  
       Arthur is straightening up again, eyes wide as he processes your explanation. He looks off down the river as he ponders, then the gentle expression that falls on his face has the toothy grin that creeps up spurring you to expect some manner of teasing. It was as if it was muscle memory at this point.  
       “With Ace?” he lowly chuckles, some adoring shake of his head and looking down at your feet, “That’s quite the dangerous feat.”  
       “Mr.Morgan!” you rebuke, your response has him scoffing and snugging his hat on tighter as if trying to hide that wondrous smile of his. “I’ll have you know, Ace and I, my pride and joy, are far capable of besting a smug gunslinger,” you explain, your words coming out jubilant as you turn to Ace, who was grazing eagerly. His head jerks up as you approach him, he seemed to think you were ready to go. You can't fight the tone your words come out as when you’re moving to stroke the soft fur of your mighty companion. “Isn’t that right, Ace? We’ve been making some mighty fine progress haven't we?”  
       The snickering you hear behind you has you snapping together the best stern expression you could have conjured at that moment, failing miserably when you see Arthur’s toothy smile just eager to get out his next few words.  
       “Maybe if you spoke to Rodin like that, you might convince him to give you both a head start.” Arthur teases.  
       Your heart swells, what a perfect name, “If you hadn't just poked fun at me I would tell you how wonderfully that name suited him.” You gesture to Arthur’s Nakota.  
       He scoffs at your response, “Mmhm, well, mount up then, I’ll be there waiting for you to show up finally.”  
       You roll your eyes at him, but match his pace as he’s mounting up onto his horse.  
       Throwing yourself up, you can tell Ace was eager like he already knew what was coming.  
       Arthur’s horse starts a trot as he’s coming up alongside you both. You couldn't help but gawk at how smooth it was, it was like Arthur was riding a cloud. And you weren't sure if you should be envious or intimidated, a brief thought jumps into your mind that has you staring quite intently at how his hips moved. Simply watching such languid rocking was making your head dizzy.  
       “You’ll have plenty of time to watch, Sweetheart,” Arthur lowly speaks up, obviously catching you in your shameless ogling. “When you’re racing to keep up with me, that is,” he adds. The jest would have had your tongue quick to fire back with something witty and confident, if only you weren't trying to reel your mind out of the gutter.  
       Directing Ace forward, taking position along the north road that headed west caressing the Dakota River. You feel the subtlest of pricks on your hand, you assumed it was nerves and paid no mind. Until you feel a rough dash across your nose. It startles you and has your senses snapping to. Moisture that accumulated on your hand as you investigate further has pulled your eyes to the sky. Evening rain. It fascinated you in some way when the ground around you remained that eerily bright color, like the sun was out, only that when you tried to find it, just clouds greeted you.  
       “You afraid of a little rain there, Grey?” he asks, looking at the sky with you before turning to look at you. The excitement that fluttered in your chest was almost blinding. What a beautiful sight, you didn't think you'd find it so alluring.  
       “Never,” you respond, he offers you a smile turning his head forward before his features fall serious in the sort of way that had your heart jumping. You could tell he wasn't about to go easy or take you under his wing in this instance. You needed to prove yourself here. “The rock just on the path there, the one with the sharp edges at the top, that’ll be the starting point,” you clarify.  
       More raindrops were heavy as they slowly made their encroaching presence known. You bit at the skin of your lip, trying to steady your breathing past the pounding hammer in your chest. And as soon as Rodin’s neck stretched past that rock, Arthur turned his attention from looking over Ace and sat forward out of the saddle, and the two were off like a bullet. A growl ripping through Arthur’s throat sent his horse lunging forward, the chills you felt from having heard it yourself was pleasant, to say the least.  
       You tried to refocus yourself. Acutely narrowing at your priorities, Ace practically reared under you before you gave him his head, he was eager to chase after the horse leaving him behind.  
       The length of his stride made for a quick catch up. Your hot-blooded companion was relishing in this activity, excited and spending all his energy in bursts of throwing his head and kicking sideways. As much as you loved seeing Ace so enthusiastic and elated, you knew you’d have to conserve his stamina somehow, mainly if you stayed to the roads. Deeper into the path you were familiar with it wouldn't be hard to get him to slow up with all the winding rock and trails.  
       You ripped your eyes away from your competition, you weren't going to let how much further ahead you were distract you. You knew Arthur was a man of great talent, and you weren't about to start doubting that now.  
       The further you were ahead the more Ace began to realize you were asking him to actually work. He’d spent the last few weeks chasing other horses while you got a decent lasso around your target. He’d even developed the rude habit of biting horses on their rear or hind legs. He was a cheeky boy who had grown quite comfortable with leaving you in charge of the essential matters.  
       Finally when he began to listen and focus on what you were asking him, Ace develops a steady rhythm, and you with him. The stretch of road you were following was free of rocks and winding ledges or trees, you had the thought that you could spend the majority of his energy here and once you crossed the river and took the road up to Cattail pond you knew the land was littered with all manner of snakes. Knowing Ace wasn't particularly fond of such creatures, you knew you could stretch his stamina a bit there as well before collecting him up and maneuvering him through the valleys that would lead down to the finish point.  
       So you kept your steady pace, knowing it was important here if you didn't want to run Ace dry. And as you came around the bend that led through a bridge, you stole a glance at where Arthur was on your tail. Surprisingly he wasn't that far behind like you anticipated. You suspected he was conserving Rodin’s stamina as well. With Ace’s stride being so lengthy you took a guess that Arthur had to press Rodin for more effort in some places just to keep that position.  
       You look forward a moment to make sure Ace wasn't going to veer off a cliff or into some tree before you’re looking back again. When you see Arthur emerge from the shelter of the bridge the smile on his face has your chest squeezing. You weren't sure if it was a taunting smile or a smile that would tell you when he knew something you didn't.  
       When the brim of his hat went down to shield his eyes, you looked forward again. You had almost forgotten about the rain pelting your skin. You were too engrossed with adrenaline to have noticed, and suddenly you couldn't put that small detail down out of your mind again.  
       So you convinced your mind to enjoy it. Feeling the cooling moisture across your body that was overworking itself, fueling your everlasting thrill. With Cumberland falls approaching on your left, you sat up and let Ace move at his own pace through the water. He took one giant stride into the deep current, and you could feel his hind legs pushing his body through the wall of water with as much force that still boggled your mind.  
       As Ace strode through to the other side of the rushing water, you glance back to Arthur and see him veering away from the main path. Instead, he took to following the river, disappearing into a thick mass of shrubs and onto a rocky cliff, that led him out of sight.  
       You paled at this, wondering if the man knew something you didn't.  
       Chasing after Ace with your voice, you demand more from him, which he gladly gives, throwing his head forward and attacking the mud below with a new sense of determination.  
       You weren't sure how many people you passed, each shouting their own string of profanities as you whizzed by them at a terrifying speed. More than a couple of times, you’d intake a startled breath of air as you turned a corner or a tree only to find your path littered with more people. On one occasion, you knocked into a group of three. But you remained focused, confident in your saddle as you didn't hang around to find out.  
       And as you predicted, you ran through the territory of more than three snakes, Ace reacting to each one by speeding up just a little bit and tucking his hindquarters under himself a bit more with that giraffe-like head of his stretching up and away. You assured yourself things were going smoothly for the most part.  
       Until you heard the thunderous sound of an engine racing faster and faster. You swallowed hard, you saw where your path would cross the tracks, but the ridge that shielded what you needed to see betrayed you.  
A train was coming, Ace was moving too fast to stop that abruptly.  
       With the horn blaring in your head, time was up, and you needed to make a decision. And just like that, the black cloud that oozed from the top of the train was in sight, too close for comfort, and too close to allow your mind time to predict where it would end up when you raced it to the crossing. You squeezed tightly around Ace, and that was enough to send the message. Ace bucked forward, his teeth almost biting the mud as his nostrils flared. You shut your eyes and held your breath.  
       When everything fell quiet, the breath you had been holding since the start remained trapped when you opened your eyes. A rush of air whipping your coat behind you felt much more substantial than air alone.  
       Disbelief washed over you, and all at once you tried to release that tension that formed all throughout your body. The engine of the machine roared past as metal screamed against metal.  
       That was a close one.  
       The sharp aching in your chest from the turmoil that developed so quickly was just the side effect here, and you were thankful to have it considering you could have been railroad jerky to some coyote.  
       Ace seemed disturbed by the close call as well as he’s galloping almost sideways away from this vast machine that snaked over the tracks. You offered him soothing praises, rubbing along his neck, and with the way his ears flicked back you could tell it was having a calming effect on him. You’d have to reward your companion handsomely for being so brave.  
       As you collected your composure, you almost couldn't find the energy to rush anymore, thankful for the needed control as you collected Ace up and guided him through the rocky valleys and dipping roads.  
       Descending the final slope, the both of you sheepishly navigate through rocks and other forms of obstructions that made trudging through the mud much more interesting. And sure enough, there your gunslinger stood.  
       The afternoon showers were just starting to die down and with the sun still reigning down, it made the sight gleam.  
       Arthur was relaxed, arms resting against the horn of his saddle as his attention fell to you as you and Ace made your way down the slope. You weren't even that upset to find them there, on the contrary, you were relieved.  
       As you came around the boulder that stood between you and him, you offer Arthur a smile.  
       “Did something happen?” he asks, concern laced thick in his voice.  
       Were you that easy to read? You sat back and asked Ace to ease up, walking the rest of the way over, you could hear your horse collecting himself, nostrils letting out rushed breaths of air as he settles.  
       When you got into talking distance, you waved a hand towards the path, “Encountered a few, er… mishaps.” you breath out, having someone to confide in again was overwhelmingly relieving. You'd spent the past few months putting on a tough front, around Arthur however, you felt you could just let your tension out, it was in the way he looked to you with those eyes of his.  
       “I swear, Grey, you’re going to get yourself killed…” he shakes his head, some distaste on his tongue as he looks away at the river rolling behind him.  
       You couldn't really argue with him on that with the encounter you had just moments ago. Watching the man as he angrily stared into the water, you knew he seemed troubled, more so than he had in the past, and with everything that's happened where you expected to find him giddy, you only saw some distraught look. You have no idea what had happened to him in the past months, you should be here for him too.  
       Opening your mouth to tease him gently, “You know what?” his eyes flicker over to you, still looking enchanting as ever, it was almost blinding, “You’re a cheat, you know that?” You add, barely restraining the laugh that banged through your throat.  
       “A cheat?” he asks, seriously at first, before the visual exchange of expression has a soft smile brushing across his lips. His eyes softened at you, “You just like doing things the hard way is all.” he appraises. With the silence that surrounded the statement, you suspected it as some double meaning.  
       You throw yourself forward, shoulders slumping and arms falling slack, “Arthur…” you drag, which earns you a chuckle.  
       “You never specified how we should get here, there’s always more than one way to do things, ya’know?” he edifies.  
       “And you know what else, Arthur Morgan? You’re pretty damn good at using my own words against me, ain’t ya?” you retort.  
       He muses at your response with low noise in his throat, a smile still evident on his face. “Come on then, let’s get goin', you get to be my little jailbird and answer my questions.”  
       As he directs Rodin onwards, you let out a melodramatic sigh, which he huffs with amusement. Your eyes catch something unusual, something in the water clinging to the bed of rocks.  
       “Is that…?” You begin, you ask Ace to step over for a closer look. “Oh,” you add, Arthur is stopping to watch your examination. It looked to be like some animal was rotting away in the river. You were prepared to move on until you saw another, and then another, both components were that of rather large sizes.  
       “Horses,” Arthur states sadly.  
       You look to him, brows raised, “Horses? There’s a lot of them rotting in one place.” you quiz, moving to join Arthur as he leads the way through the bottom of the ridge.  
       “Yeah, saw quite a few further down the river,”  
       “What happened, do you think?”  
       “Well, my guess is, drunkards, get to riding around the ridge and, well, when it’s dark especially, all it takes is a wrong step here to send ya over into the drink.” Arthur grimly pieces together.  
       You grimace at the thought of dropping into the rocky rapids, you could swim, but you doubted yourself on being well practiced and vigorous enough to fight through those sorta currents.  
       “I’d been through more than a couple of times, why haven't I noticed these?” Arthur only shrugs, as his eyes are trained on the path before him. Rodin was relaxed as he effortlessly navigated the slopes, in comparison, Ace had his head forward as well, but, instead, he was tired. And as nervous as that made you to have a sluggish horse scaling the ridge, you kept your eyes trained on Arthur’s motions and mimicked him, his presence brought confidence to your seat.  
       And as the both of you made it to the top of the slope, Arthur stops to give the rickety bridge a look over, relaxing against the saddle, he seemed so calm in this environment, he truly belonged out here, you tried to think of anything that might rattle his calm demeanor.  
       “Arthur,” you speak up, he offers you a hum from his throat, acknowledging before you continue, “What are you afraid of?” You ask sincerely.  
       He looks to you a moment before he’s looking back to the bridge, pondering your question, “What you mean?”  
       “I mean, I’m nervous about this bridge, yet, you seem completely fine.”  
       “Tell you what, once we get past this bridge, I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of.” You silently nod, your own nervousness catching your tongue. ”Once I get halfway you can follow.”  
       And you did just that, you tried to ignore the way the bridge swayed and creaked under the weight of the horses. You didn't want to think about how impossible this should have been, and you’re thankful for how tired Ace was. With the way your anxiety was bouncing around, he was bound to feed off of it and make things worse.  
       The crossing was rather tame, you weren't sure why you were so anxious about it to begin with, maybe it was the heights or the sound of rushing water draining down the rocky depths. Either way, you kept your eyes trained on Arthur, who watched and waited patiently at the other side. And just as you prepared to release your caught breath, Ace’s hooves stepping onto the wooden ramp that led off onto the rock, Arthur, sharply interrupts. His tone scares you.  
       “Hold up,” he instructs. And you do, sitting back in the saddle as straight as a pine. Ace lifts his head at the dramatic change in your posture but remains unmoving as asked.  
       Arthur’s body language looked tense, as he nudged Rodin forward up the terrifyingly narrow path. You held your breath to identify what had him so cautious. You thought you heard the sound of hooves beating against the rocks up ahead, but you also know for a solid three minutes that's all you were listening to so you could easily be hallucinating.  
       Then, like a hairpin trigger, you weren't sure if it actually happened.  
       Arthur, jerked the reigns backward, sitting forward as Rodin’s hips dropped back and his legs began to scurry away from whatever was around that rock that drove them so close to the edge. The large red mass never stopped, it pushed and pushed until Arthur was growling out, something like frustration and pain ripping through his lungs. Even as Rodin’s hind leg slips from the path, Arthur never gave up on trying to push Rodin forward, doing everything he could at that very moment to make sure the horse stayed up.  
       You choked, wanting to get over as quickly as you could to keep them from falling into the rapids. Ace flinches below you at your sudden change in positioning, he was waking up now, the commotion ahead of you both had caught his attention, and he too was now backing up.  
       Flicking over to the big-bodied Bay Roan Ardennes that was throwing its head, the horse was in obvious pain as the bit dug into its mouth. The rider was dressed in frilly shades of red, and blonde hair.  
       “Oh my,” she squeaked, the half-heartedness in her tone has you quick to draw your pistol, thumb already drawing back the hammer. When her eyes met yours, “Ah ah!” she warns, pulling back on the hammer of her revolver she had aimed towards you. “Hands up, off the horse.” She commands.  
       Your anger had blotched out your vision, or was it your denial? You could barely make out her face, “You’re deranged!” you hiss through your clenched teeth. Ace is already throwing his head, shifting side to side as he’s unsure where to turn to in such closed spaces. Your aim remains fixed, however, what were you doing? You should just kill her now!  
       Some hesitation was bred from the fact you weren't at terms with admitting Arthur had just plummeted off the cliff. And it left you shell-shocked.  
       “Don't move, Sweetheart,” she instructs virulently.  
       And with her words your face falls, that anger you were familiar with that scared you so had you strung up now, your eyes dug into her, nothing short of a glare, “You don't get to call me that,” you explain voice trembling and tripping over itself as it chokes out past your rage, she seems unphased. “He does,” you add.  
       With the jerk of a trigger the kickback you'd gotten used to through the months was something you weren't shying from this time around, and so you pulled the hammer back again. The woman was already recoiling from wherever the first shot of yours landed. The horse she was on tossed its head up and away from you, the woman was resilient though, gathering herself to raise her pistol to you again.  
       She wasn't fast enough however, and you unloaded another round into her, and in response, her nerves jerked. The gun in her hand fired off in your direction, your eyes caught the spark of the round ricocheting off the rock just inches to your right and sending the bullet through the log that held up the ropes of the bridge. You were too livid to pay it any mind, you watched as her body pathetically flopped to the ground with an awful thud as her horse took off without her.  
       You have the sense to look over to the post, realizing it probably just saved your life than with the way interrupted the stray path from the bullet. Taking in a shaky breath, Ace is already a step ahead of you as he’s partially rearing to turn back over the bridge.  
       Holding your breath again for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day, you whimpered as you scanned the white caps racing below.  
       Coming back down from over the hill you see Rodin flopping anxiously onto the river bank, nostrils flaring as he’s finding his air again through the stressed whinnying he lets out. You were relieved, you were. But you didn't see Arthur, Arthur should have been with Rodin. And suddenly your eyes aren't fast enough.  
       “Arthur?!” You shriek, Ace was bouncing anxiously below you, it was evident he was feeding off of your body language, and you weren't in the right mind to calm down. The large rock that you had raced Arthur to was beginning to stress you out more, you just wanted it gone so you could see and find him. You call out for your him again, clearly hysterical at this point. Reigns gripped tight and unrelenting as you shove Ace around to keep up with your frantic searching.  
       You raced down with the river, posture high-strung as you panicked more and more the longer you went without seeing him. Your mind was running with the worst possibilities, why did you torture yourself so?  
       With your eyes too trained on looking for him in the water, you debate jumping into the river yourself just to see where he could have been swept away to. And with that thought you're jumping from Ace, running to the water's edge, you're already kicking up water uncaring about how soaked you were going to be. Then the coughing from your right startles you, of course another rock was obstructing your view, why were there so many rocks strewed around when you were trying to find your Gunslinger.  
       Making a straight path around the rock and through shrubs and an annoyingly small pine tree that you stiff-armed rather violently. You see him lying flat on his back, with his legs still rooted in the water.  
       Gasping out, which comes out more like a sob than anything, you’re rushing over to him, lifting him up by scooping his shoulders with your arms you drag him away from the water as far as your anxiety allows you to without growing fatigued.  
       Arthur continues to cough out, growling as he tries to rid his airways of the stray water that he continued to fight.  
       “There you are,” he wheezes, “went to snatch up my hat before it got swept away and-” he lurches to his side for air, coughing out harshly, “heard a shot, then, couldn’t get out of the water fast enough.” You would have commented about how dangerous it was to go back into the current for something so insignificant as a hat, but he continued, “I was afraid whoever that was might have-” you could tell he didn't want to continue that thought.  
       You’re only partially listening to him at this point, hands roaming over him trying to support him wherever he needed. "I took care of that harpy, she ain't around no more," your words come out more comforting than you imagined. “Are you alright?” you quietly ask.  
       “I'm fine,” he clears his throat again, this time he speaks with a bit more clarity, “where’s Rodin?”  
       His question has you snapping your eyes to the far side of the ravine, you watch as the horse stands uncomfortably still and miserable, but up, which was a good sign.  
       “He’s going to be okay,” you rasp, helping Arthur to his feet and gesturing over to his horse. He follows your attention and visibly relaxes. You couldn't keep your hands off of Arthur however. The overwhelming relief that washed over you had even more emotions surfacing, it was like everything all at once was flooding in. Everything you wanted to express to him, everything you wanted him to comfort and make sense of. You clung to him, hugging him tight as you pressed your forehead into the base of his neck.  
       A moment of pause passes before you feel him accepting your affection, comforting you as he’s swaying side to side slightly.  
       “You alright, Sweetheart?” his voice was hoarse, but it never failed to soothe you.  
       You catch yourself shaking your head no, but with the stress of making sure Arthur would remain unaffected, your tongue lies for you in a way, “Yes.” you utter. Physically you were fine aside from the acute pain in your chest you argue to yourself, technically it wasn't a lie. His hand is rubbing circles into your back. Another pang of guilt rips into you, you should be comforting him, not the other way around.  
       He pushes you away gently just enough to get his hands around your face to guide your eyes to look at him. His hair was strewn about, his wet hair sticking to the skin of his damp forehead. His eyes were reddened from the water, and everything about him made him look miserable. But that wasn't what made him seem desperate, no, it was the way his lips parted for a plea, “Grey, come back with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It's a treasure to be able to share it with you and hear what you think about it. It still blows my mind that we could be hours away from one another, yet here we are, using the same platform reading the same words. (Just sleep deprivation thoughts) I love you; you know what's up. Be safe, take it easy.


	12. Puppeteer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur hides his face with the brim of his hat, his eyes were on you though, waiting for you as you scanned past him briskly. You rub your face, hand partially cupped around your jaw as you listen in on the two fools. Eyes were watching the bartender as he reluctantly serves the individuals, you could tell the barman was more concerned about money than anything else at that moment.
> 
> “Oi, move aside would ya?” A ghoulish voice booms in your ear.
> 
> You felt the excitement being kindled, this was your playing field, and the outlaw was just itching to join you. Let's invite him in shall we?
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

       “They’ll be here, relax.” you softly speak to the space between both you and a tense-looking Arthur. Neither looking at him or anything else besides your drink in hand. You and Arthur had sat far enough apart to make any group who came in trying to fit comfortably.

       “I hope you're right about this, being here, it's dangerous, even for me, do you know -”

       “I know! You told me already,” your words come out hissed through your whisper. “Arthur, you know you can trust me,” you add shooting him a glance to which the man downs the rest of his whiskey rather hastily. The clatter and commotion from the entrance of the Rhodes saloon have your eyes scanning. Careful not to stare too obviously, Arthur does the same. “This might be them.” you lowly covey.

       You ignore the scathing glance Arthur shoots you with like he would chide you for not knowing for sure. But he was smart, he knew how this was going to go, and opening his mouth at that moment would have made things difficult.

       You hear more than see the two brutes come tumbling over to the bar. Boisterous as they celebrate and laugh about the misfortune they had dished out what could have been just hours ago.

       “Aye, Barman! Get us on some drinks and keep em comin’!” the thicker accented individual orders. Coming to the bar up on your left.

       Arthur hides his face with the brim of his hat, his eyes were on you though, waiting for you as you scanned past him briskly. You rub your face, hand partially cupped around your jaw as you listen in on the two fools. Eyes were watching the bartender as he reluctantly serves the individuals, you could tell the barman was more concerned about money than anything else at that moment.

       “Oi, move aside would ya?” A ghoulish voice booms in your ear.

       You felt the excitement being kindled, this was your playing field, and the outlaw was just itching to join you. Let's invite him in shall we?

       Lifting your head to the voice the man’s ruddy skin on his face stands out the most. Your eyes were busy scanning evidence of his involvement in gang activity however. Yet, you are startled when you can't find any green on him whatsoever. Did you have the wrong man?

       You smile, “Oh, pardon me,” you scratch up.

       The two outlaws give you a snobby look. Little did they know. “We're trying to celebrate a productive day here, can't ya see?” the one closest to you barks.

       You hold your hands up defensively and stand up from sitting on the barstool to offer the filthy man your seat.

       “Of course, of course, I'm not one to stand in the way of a celebration, matter of fact, as a show of good faith, how about a round? On me, what do you say?” You bait.

       You watch the two look at one another, and that brings your mind an image of a smile, a sly one under the one scribbled on the mask you wore. Watching as the greedy individuals accept your offer, you politely hail the bartender to start a round of drinks on your tab.

       You watch as the two voraciously indulge in the free liquor.

       “I must say, I've had my own share of scores, you fellas musta' really hit the big haul this time, haven't ya?” You ask after a lull, watching as they quickly down their first sets. The both of them freeze, looking hesitant at each other. The one behind with black hair looks to you and sheepishly opens his mouth, he seemed ready to tell you to mind your own business. You would have none of that tonight. “Don't lie to me, I know a successful job when I see one.” You interject, lifting the shot glass to your mouth, before downing the drink you add “And you two ain't field pickers neither.”

       The two shrug and the one who sat next to you begins their story. It was obvious the ruddy-faced man was proud. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so quick to share.

       “Just hooked us a small fortune.” Your brow twitches at this, trying to hide your unimpressed face with the mask of curiosity. “We came across this yoke, just him and his broad out in the middle of tall trees. So I look to Stephen, and I tell ‘em we should go ransack it.” You listen on, feeling like you'd heard this a thousand times. “He says, “no,” sayin’ “there ain't nothing worth taken at a camp that small for just the two of ‘em.””

       And the two share an agitated glance, the ink head opens his mouth in defense, “they looked like they been on the run themselves, wearin' rags and what not. It ain't my fault they looked like tumbleweeds.”

       The taller of the two interrupts him, “yeah yeah, it's a good thing I'm the brains here ain't it?” Waving his hand dismissively. The two down another drink.

       “It's just the two of you?” You ask. The question has them puffing out their chests a bit. At least the one who took your seat earlier was. Your eyes scanned the ebony haired man as he seemed to shrivel back away from the topic. How interesting.

       “Just us got tired of how things were run,” he leans in close grabbing your shoulder to pull you in for a listen. “We was part of that O'driscoll gang.”

       Your eyes widen, not in shock or amazement. Instead, you couldn't believe this man was bragging about such a scrutinizing bullet point to his resume.

       “Was? What happened?” You asked trying to sound thoroughly intrigued. The man sits up waving his hands around like it was nothing, he seems mighty proud though. And you couldn't ignore the man behind him, silently retracting like a scared turtle.

       “My trusty companion here stayed by me when the bastard Colm caught me in a deal turned sour. This man here's my brother, ain't ya Stephen.” The brunet boasts loudly, patting the shorter man on his back with a heavy thud. The suddenly more sheepish man lets out a nervous laugh to join in on his partner's celebratory announcement.

       Your eyes only narrowed at such an unusual change in body language. Watching the man ride from way up high to the lowest of low as he's trying to hide as much of himself as he could. You studied a bit longer as the two shared some more information about each other. Then realization came to when you understood the body language was nothing but guilty. And the topic of loyalty really made the man cower.

       “You two familiar with Colm?”

       “Sorta,” the one closest to you replies, and when you look to the man behind him, he looks away, looking nervous as a prairie dog.

       “Where did he run off too? He’s not running the show anymore, is he? Been pretty quiet round, Valentine, last I checked.” you speak.

       And before the brunet has a chance to open his mouth, his partner is snarling at you, “What’s it matter to you?”

       Then everything clicked, and your point would be the wedge to drive them apart.

       You sat up from the stool, turning towards Arthur as you do and give him a knowing gaze which he returns. And as you turn in to stand between the two sods, you see Arthur casually raising the bandana over his face.

       Your hands are heavy as they land on their shoulders one on each as you smile fondly to them. Neither of them rejects your contact instead they look to be waiting for your words.

       “My, I've gotta say, the two of you heading out on your own, and still managing to do what y'all do best, that's-” you chuckle, mostly a degrading laugh trying to get out, but you're quick to make sure it remains unnoticeable. “Well that's just incredible, and I've got to know, which one of you is using the other one?”

       The two of them share a laugh with you, nervously dying down before the one that now sat on your right opens his mouth, “What do you mean, ‘usin’?’”

       You lower your voice, bringing the two of them closer together as you lean in, “You know, which one of you is willing to die for the other?” The two look to each other, the one on your right seemed confident and confused, yet the one on your left seemed worried and quick to anger. The shorter man on your left shoves your hand away as a result.

       The one on your right speaks up, “You tryin’ to start something?” he snaps. This has you genuinely laughing and straightening up slightly.

“No, not at all, though it seems a couple of simple questions is too hard for ya, so I’ll ask you one more time, loud enough so you can hear;” you drop your mask at this, face falling indifferent, “Where is Colm O'driscoll?”

       With that, the two turn away from you, laughing, “You can fuck off with that, I - we don't know anythin’.” the taller individual spits, and the one on your left begins to laugh condescending like.

       “Screw off,” he the ink head parrots.

       You softly laugh at this, mostly your impatience bubbling up. And the three of you drift into a quiet lull. A lull, full of defensiveness and aggression. Your eyes trail lazily from one to the other, before landing on Arthur. Whos silent gaze from the corner of his eyes looks worried, but curious about what you intended to do.

       With your lip ticking up, the adrenaline begins to race through your body, feeling your heart speed up as a result.

       You calmly reach forward, taking the glass on the right from the man's lips, whiskey and all you drive the glass hard into the side of the man's face.

       The bruising you feel from the pressure needed to bust the glass structure is insignificant when your senses are quickly attuned to the pained grumble. Before the brunette can get up from his seat however you're quick to shove the man's face forward into the countertop, the loud pop that rings through the saloon is satisfying to your ears. Quickly securing the man's left hand up behind his back and tugging higher and higher the man is pliant in your hands. A groan leaves him, pleading for you to stop.

       “Tell me what I want to know.” You hiss to the man trapped under you.

       All the while the man on your left is startled, jumping from his seat and away from you, he fumbles with his gun belt. And when time appears to stop at the audible sound of a hammer being cranked back and ready to be unhinged, you calmly register Arthur has the man on your left under control. The narrowed glare only grew more ominous with the silent shake of his head. A silent warning telling the fool he best not continue.

       Foolishly the bartender approaches yelling at you to take it outside. You bare your teeth at the interruption, locking eyes with the barman, before growling fiercely at him, “if you don't want brains all over your nice bar top here, you'll let these gentlemen answer my questions.”

       This seems to be enough to get the man to step back, looking nervous. It's eventual when you realize the rest of the saloon has gotten quiet. And you return to your task at hand, focusing on what needed to be done first.

       A smile comes to your face, voice lowering into something soothing and cheery.

       “You'll be willing to answer my questions, won't you?” You ask, the man trapped under your vice grip struggles, fruitlessly trying to lift his head and shimmy away. You only apply the slightest bit more pressure, and the man falls limp again muttering noises of discomfort.

       “You hear that Mr. M?” You rhetorically ask, throwing your voice over your shoulder, “Looks like our friend here ain’t quite understanding the situation he’s in. What say we give him a little reminder?” Arthur rolls his head to the side, clearly enjoying this himself yet his aim remains trained on the man to your left.

       “If you don't start talking, your friend here who may already know the information I'm looking for, and when I ask the question, and you don't answer, guess who gets to live?” you ask. Leaning in, the time you take between your question and your next statement drags, ravishing the subtle signs of fear and realization on the face of the man you held to the countertop. How pitiful. This man knew nothing, you'll try and cheer him up. “If you guessed your friend, you’re smarter than your showing right now.”

       The man under you held some bit of resistance still, thrashing a little, or trying to before spitting out his next few words, “he ain't gonna tell you a thing-!”

       You interrupt his feeble attempts, “that man has a gun pointed at his head, and my associate here has an itchy trigger finger, you, are the last of his worries right now, I've seen this all before.” Watching the two exchange worried looks, denial flashing over the man who had his face shoved into the hard surface. “My first question;” you purr,  “Where is Diana Jackson?”

       When your ears hear silence, you crank the man’s already pinched limb up to his back again, a sharp groan leaves the man’s throat, and suddenly both men are rushing to give an answer.

       “We don't know!” They both say in unison.

       “Good,” You praise as if talking to a dog. “It looks like you two get what game we are playing then, now try again, I know you’re in bed with Colm, and I know he knows Ms. Jackson. I want my answer now, or someone is going be hurting,” The man under you whimpers, gritting his teeth with agony, you resist the urge to break his arm, it was obvious he wasn't going to last much longer. The lull that interrupts the four of you has you turning your head to Arthur. “The slowest one usually has the most hesitation, ain't that right Mr. M?” you add.

       Arthur lifts his head to you, still eyeing down the smaller male to your left over the sight of his pistol. “That’d be right. I don't think this one needs his knees too much they don't seem to be working too well anyway, shaking as they are.” Arthur drawls in response and that rich tone of his which he used to intimidate strangers sent a wave of excitement through you.

       You lean forward to whisper into the agony filled body’s ear, “You hear that? Your friend is terrified and answerin’ my questions pretty quickly is inevitable, you still think you can trust him not to speak?”

       And to your surprise, the ink head at gunpoint opens his mouth, “We ain't heard from Diana in months,-”

The one under you goes to interrupt his companion, “Colm wanted her gone! So he did! She ain't with the man no more.”

       “Would you look at that, one of you seems more inclined to answer than the other,” you softly explain, “ain't this fun? We are learning so much about one another now than we were earlier.”

       You watch the two silently as they exchange livid expressions.

       “My last and final question and the first one to answer gets to go free.” You explain, letting them stew on that thought for a bit, you see the glisten of Arthur’s pistol in the corner of your eye, no doubt the man held up by it took notice. “Where is Colm O'driscoll?” you heavily pronounce.

       And in a rush both of them speak, the one to your left starts first and practically shouts, “St. Denis!”

       The other however, his words come out croaked and on the edge of releasing a pitying sob, “I don't know!”  

       The gasp that leaves you trickles off into a surprised laugh, something low and amused.

       “What do you mean by that?” the one on the counter asks his partner, or once was.

       “I - I’ve, I was to keep an eye on you, said you couldn't be trusted, But I also ain't dying for no turncoat!”

       You look to Arthur, it was hard to read his expression with the mask around it, but he seemed just as amused if a little less, you suspected he was pondering the new information. No doubt surprised to have actually gotten the information you promised him. As the two fools fall silent, you feel the man trapped under your hold being to quake.

       Quietly you lean forward, your mirth had faded with your next question to the man, “What are you feeling right now? Is it fear, or anger, that I feel shivering at my fingertips?”

       In all honesty, you were genuine with your curiosity, you knew what it felt like to be betrayed, to be left behind by someone you would have died for. You wondered if it felt different for other people, or if it hurt just as bad as it did when it left that scar across your heart.

       His silence spoke volumes to you. However, it told you that he wasn't quite sure himself. So with a push, you back off the man, letting him sag against the countertop. You watched the two silently exchange words, feelings of contempt. You gave Arthur a look, which he returned and lowered his pistol, you both always managed to run on the same mindset, so it wasn't hard to walk away and leave the two to what was about to come.

       And sure enough, as the both of you are exiting the saloon, you hear violent thrashing and bouts of guttural shouting. You and Arthur however, were unamused, walking out to the red sand road to your horses.

       “You want to lead the way this time, or shall I?” You ask over your shoulder as the both of you prepare to mount up.

“Watching you take control back there has me thinkin’ I ain’t got much a choice but to follow ya.” He retorts, his tone playful, yet the mask still clung around his face hiding most of his expression.

       You offer him a slight degree of a smile, using your leg to jut Ace into motion, you thought on his response, you weren't sure if they were meant to tease, or if they had some other emotion laced in there, either way, it left you to continue your pondering.

       Both of you swiftly rode out of town.

       You led Arthur to a shaded creek, cautious as you remained alert for any backlash that might have arisen from the chaos you instilled back at the saloon.

       “We should be good here,” Arthur speaks, and when you turn to look at him, he’s looking off up the hill through the woods as well, keeping alert just as you. His hand reaches up to remove the cloth over his face.

       You chuckle at this, “You thought you were going to need to kill the bastard?” you ask.

       Arthur raises a brow at you before his own smile is mirroring yours, “I didn't know what to expect, Grey, you coulda turned into a cougar and started mauling the whole saloon.”

       The laugh that leaves you is more guttural this time as you're dismounting from Ace, “And you think a black shred of cloth would keep you from being mauled by any form of a big cat?” He’s dismounting as well as you continue, “besides, I think I’m more of a panther anyways, but, you wouldn't know too much about that would you?” You jest.

       Arthur releases a defeated sigh, “You and your technicalities.” both of you fall into a comfortable lull, both scoffing at the response. "You know I wasn't sure what to think before I found you, I had been hearin' bad things."

       "Well, folks only see what they want to, they wouldn't understand the situation if they weren't there from the beginin'." You look to Arthur who seems to agree, "I ain't for needlessly killin', Arthur, you should know that."

       "I know." He softly admits.

       You lead Ace over to the water, watching as the secluded pond bustles with activity, bugs bouncing off the water, fish eagerly jumping to nab them, the sound was downright peaceful, you could fall asleep here with the way the water trickled down its path.

       “Beautiful.” Arthur quietly breaks the silence, you stare a moment at the water, waiting for him to finish, and when he doesn't, you turn to watch him. You stutter a moment realizing he had been watching you instead. The smile that comes to your face is relentless, your assumption has you blushing, and so you turn back towards the water, sitting down on the rock that hung over the pool.

       “This place?” You ask. Arthur gives Rodin free reign letting the horse rest alongside Ace who happened to be chugging water at the moment.

       As he is walking over to you, he responds, “Mm, sure.” his response did nothing to quell your racing anticipation. He throws himself down on the rock next to you, and you look to him, as you rest your head on your knees, partially rubbing your cheeks against your kneecaps as you do. His attention flickers from the serene pond to you before his eyes fall soft, watching you a moment.

       You can't help but look away from him, he seemed to stare into you, peeling open your layers and revealing all your insecurities with the graceful and steady ease. It sends your heart racing as you try and hold the gaze right back, but, every time, you submit. You eagerly try and find something to talk about, anything to keep your face from being turned into a tomato and your tongue turned to mush.

       “Hey, Arthur?” you peep, much to your surprise he was about to say something as well, and both of you are nervously reeling back. Stuttering on words, both of you make an apologetic noise, and offer to let the other continue and go first. That ends with both of you staring embarrassingly at one another. However, the awkwardness doesn't last long, as you’re both letting out a throaty chuckle, both equally aware of the situation.

       “I was going to ask you if you wanted to come back with me, Grey.” Arthur quietly affirms.

       “But I -”

       “I know, I know, you’re worried about Dutch and, then what do you do about your, -” he pauses a moment, doing something with his hands, as he leans forward towards you a bit, “well I hesitate to call it a gang,” You puff your cheeks out at him.

       “Arthur,” you warn halfheartedly, he smiles at this, knowing you weren't all that serious about your offense.

       He chuckles a moment before continuing, “I don't see how Dutch could deny you now, I mean, you've already helped him in a way Micha was never able to,-”

       You swiftly jut your leg over to kick Arthur’s foot as you interrupt him, “I didn't do it for Dutch, don't misunderstand,” your tone had risen surprisingly tense, and you could tell with the way Arthur was pulling away and looking back at the water. “I did it,-” You seem to stumble on your words a second, you couldn't flat out tell Arthur that you were doing it for him, the whole reason you had left and gone on your own was for Arthur in the first place, but, to tell him that now? You feared he’d be quicker to anger than to hear you out, if you told him that, “I did it, to find Diana.” you continue. It certainly wasn't a lie. Though the pained expression that snatches Arthur up has you worrying your lip, that aching in your chest was back.

       “Look,” Arthur begins, “I understand if you don't want to stay, but, don't run yourself into the ground either, let yourself have help.” he pleads. “Whatever you’re chasing, for whatever reasons, it ain't worth ruining yourself for. If you absolutely must, then, at least accept my help.”

       Your hand darts out to touch his arm, “You already are helping me, Arthur.” You beam.

       “How do you mean?”

       “By bein’ here!” He gives you this quizzical look. “Back in the saloon? Come on Arthur, it happened just a moment or so ago, don't tell me you’re forgettin’ already.” You nudge.

       “We didn't find jack-shit about Diana.” he quickly retorts, clarifying as he tries to understand your knowledge.

       “Maybe not, but, we learned that Colm was in St. Denis, doing something, who knows what.” You trail off, “I'll start my search there.” You add with a breath. Arthur looks back at you, so you ask, “What are you going to do with the information, Arthur?”

       Arthur then looks away, rolling his head, “oh, I don't know, with the way Dutch has been behavin’ I don't think to tell him will be in the camp’s best interests.”

       “Dutch okay?” you ask sheepishly. Arthur is quite a moment staring into the water. His expression is dazed as he thinks to himself. He only shrugs, not really looking at you.

       “What is it, Arthur?” You ask cautiously, gingerly touching his hand with yours as you're unable to resist the urge to physically comfort.

       He doesn't shy from your advance, he almost leaned into it if it was possible, he then asks, “What are we doing anymore?”

       You tilt your head.

       “I mean, us, outlawing, it's obvious this world don't want us no more, what is it we are trying to hold onto anyway?” You grimace. What a heavy thought to be racing around inside the head. “What do we do? I mean those who ain't ghosts no more, they've got so much they could be doing but, they're here, with us, just, wasting away. It's -” he stops abruptly, shaking his head, drawing in on himself.

       So you move closer, knowing not what to say, but instead, you rub his back, circles across his broad shoulders and down his bulky spine. The two of you sit like this for a while. At some point, you grow comfortable enough to rest your head on his shoulder. Both of you just watching in peaceful silence as the sun retreats down through the trees.

       “Arthur, I think we just gotta remember what means the most to us, and think on nothing but that.” You quietly break the silence.

       You feel more than see him turn his head to you like he was wondering on what you had said. He shakes his head softly before you feel a pressure rest against your head and you remained comfortable on his shoulder.

       “I don't know the answer to that either,” he admits defeatedly.

       Your heart feels heavy at his response, you can't imagine what turmoil was running rampant inside the man. You assure yourself what the man needed was a good laugh or two. So you conjured up a breath, release your tension with a sigh.

       “Well, you could devote time to figuring out which is which when it comes to big cats. We both know it ain't your strongest talent.” You tease, patting his bicep mockingly.

       You feel him lift his head to look at you, you can just imagine his blank expression. And you quivered trying not to laugh.

       “Okay then, Grey, cause you're such an expert let's go to a dangerous and invested territory with cats that want to eat ya, and you can show me how it's done.” He teases right back.

       You can't help the laugh from escaping you now.

       “You'll never get me to admit my bluff, Mr. Morgan.”

       “Yeah, uh huh, I'm sure.” He drawls, “Look, all I'm sayin’ is, both have sharp claws and terrible attitudes. Ain't no difference in the fact both will rip you to shreds.”

       You laugh at his defense, “That's something only you would manage in finding out isn't it?”

       He makes an amused hum seemingly pondering on your question. “Well, you ain't wrong…”

       You feel him more than hear when the two of you chuckle at the exchange.

       “Arthur, thank you.” He seems to still at these words like he was holding his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 is next! So excited, been waiting for this one for a while, going to be a great time writing it at least. Chapter 12, I could tell I forgot where I was going with things, but, I mean, gosh, I'm nervous what you'll think of it. This chapter was partially undone, I had the sense in mind to check my scrap paper on GoogleDocs. And sure enough, there was a small little flint of an idea that described the bar scene, and I was like, "OH, YEAH THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A THING," and then I was like... "er what happens after?" and, well. This happened. 
> 
> While the idea that they talked most of the time while at Grey's camp, isn't implied, I also felt it would have been a bit random to include it. Knowing I didn't allot myself time to invest you into the relationships around you, and your camp. I'm crossing my fingers when the time comes that I'll be able, to siphon similar feelings without needing that time. 
> 
> Perhaps that will be my main test here during this story. 
> 
> But, anyway, I can't wait to hear what you think, I never imagined I'd get so lucky as to have someone so supportive and eager to read along with me. You give me a great gift, one that, isn't so easily given. And I want to Thank you, for that every chance I get. I'll see you soon! Be safe!


	13. I Wouldn't Love Me Neither

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s your name then?” she asks.
> 
> You open your lips to respond until those grim thoughts have you choking on your words, “What does it matter anymore?” you ask in defeat. You were going to be hung in a few days, and any fight you had was spent convincing Fly that this was the only way.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

       You weren't sure how many hours had passed since you had practically thrown yourself into the jaws of the law. What else could you have done? Dutch left you no choice. You tried to find any other route you could have taken, but if you wanted those you cherished to be spared any harm, you had to take drastic action. 

Yes, you tried the idea of running, but when Arthur comes rushing over to you, not even bothering to dismount from his horse before he tells you that you and your new family need to run. Well, there wasn't room for time it seemed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ “Grey! Get out here!” Arthur called from just outside the homestead, his horse was hot and sweaty as it threw its head and tossed itself around in a circle, nostrils flared. “Grey! Get out here, now!” He ordered with a tone you never thought twice about heeding. _

_ And you were jumping from your seat, putting down your work and running outside.  _

_ “Arthur?” You speak up sheepishly, Fly had been on the man much quicker than you were, the two of you exchanged perturbed glances as you heard Arthur out.  _

_ “You need to leave now,” he warned, you could only blink idley at him, Fly looked ready to clock the man off his horse. “Grey, listen to me, very carefully,” your brows furrowed at his words you were focused on what was to be said next. “Micha is hell bent on turning everyone against you.” _

_ “I don't understand? Why do I need to-” _

_ “Jack has been taken.” Arthur injected abruptly, and your words died on your tongue.  _

_ “What?” You rasped, “What do you mean, ‘taken?’ Where is he?” _

_ “Grey, we don't got time to-” _

_ “Then I’ll get my things, and you can tell me on the way there.” You sharply stated and turned on your heel.  _

_ “Grey!” Arthur snarled. The tone had you shocked and stock-still. You turned to look back at him, as you looked into his eyes you’re overwhelmed with what he was silently conveying to you. You were on the verge of tears bred from stress when you reached forward towards him grabbing his leg. “Do you understand what I'm saying?” he lowly asked when you approached closer.  _

_ A sharp flick of pain in your chest had you choked up slightly, “You think I took him? You think I’d do something so vile as to harming a Jack?!” You bit. _

_ “You’re not listening to me, Grey, I’m telling you, Micha has you pinned as the one responsible, it doesn't matter if you did it or not because Dutch believes that Snake bastard.”  _

_ “But I’d never!”  _

_ “I know, and that’s why you have to leave, right now.”  _

_ “How much time do we have?”  _

_ Arthur is quiet at your question, pondering quickly before he's shaking his head with defeat, feeling pressured. “I - I don't know, It ain't going to be long, you have to go, take only the bare necessities.” _

_ Your mind was racing a mile a minute trying to process this fuse of dynamite, burning ever too quickly as it sat heavy in your lap. “Arthur,” you croaked, looking to Fly who was eagerly waiting on your next instruction, you could feel more eyes on you as well, but right then, you had too many calamities being processed at that moment. “I can’t just leave my people here alone.” _

_ Then a realization hit. _

_ “You told him where we were?!” You jumped at the crisis messenger eyeing him steadily past that notorious hat. Anger was being pumped through your veins. Arthur opened his mouth, something guilty plastered on his face. You wanted to snap and give the man a good punch to the face, but, you knew the risks going in didn't you? You knew how sickeningly loyal Arthur was from the beginning, this should have been no surprise. You silenced him with a hand, teeth clenched as your words hissed out, “Don't, say a thing, I already know! Its written all over your face.” _

_ You thought a moment, lips parsed as you worried the inside of your cheeks, “If he’s as close as you’re stressing it to be, then we have no time to move everyone, we have seated our roots too comfortably to make a move that quickly.” you explained.  _

_ “What else can you do for them, Grey?” _

_ “I can't leave them alone to deal with something as unpredictable as Micha and Dutch!” you disputed.  _

_ “You really think he’d hurt a bunch of innocent people?” _

_ Your gaze turned seething at that, “Do you even hear yourself?” he winced at his own realization when you continue, “This is, Jack, we are talking about too! Who knows how others will react! They’re quicker to anger and to start shooting than they are to hear me out and be willing to trust again, especially if Jack ’s safety is at stake.” _

_ He shut his eyes, it was evident he was trying to figure someway this could all be okay. The worry he had been carrying about not knowing where Jack was did a number on him already, he was barely holding it together judging by the way his shoulders would slump forward, and that painfully desperate arch on his brows remained tighter than ever.  _

_ “Grey, I’m telling you to go,” he slowly lifted his head, some edge to his eyes as he was almost threatening you now. “Now!” he snapped.  _

_ You pushed off of him, “And I’m telling you, It. Ain’t. Going. To. Happen. There’s no way I’m leaving my family behind to deal with Micha and Dutch alone.”  _

_ His only response is the terrifying stare as his body loomed over you. You almost would have rather seen a shotgun at your face than that. He rocked forward, readying himself to dismount from his horse. You were too busy processing outcomes and solutions to notice when he walked towards you and reached for your arm.  _

_ “You ain’t staying here-” _

_ “Shut it!” you hiss, “Give me a second.” _

_ “We don't have time, Grey.” He retorted, dragging you towards his horse by your bicep.  _

_ You ripped your arm away, stepping back from him and the look on your face could have only been described as belligerent. The world suddenly fell critically quiet as the both of you exchange combative expressions.  _

_ “Fly,” you muttered, and right on queue the right hand is keened in on your next few words, “I need you to take me to Strawberry.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  


“So, what did you do?” the voice in the corner of your cell questioned. It snapped you out of your thoughts, blinking you lift your head to bed on the far side. 

Quietly you request, “Pardon?”

The woman who was laid out on the bed sat up a little, looking more clearly at you as you sat in the opposing corner. “I asked you what you did to get locked up in here,” she repeats, more pronounced. 

“Oh,” you mutter, wanting to retreat in on yourself, you were back to thinking about all the things you did to put a price on your head over the past few months. “Well, I ain't sure where it started.”

The woman makes a scoffing noise, mostly unamused as she’s sitting up on the bed entirely now. 

The light from the barred window to the world above was just enough to make out some of her features, she had beautiful red skin and a dark head of hair, her physique and clothing had you guessing she was no house flower, this woman was fighting in this unforgiving world.

“What’s your name then?” she asks. 

You open your lips to respond until those grim thoughts have you choking on your words, “What does it matter anymore?” you ask in defeat. You were going to be hung in a few days, and any fight you had was spent convincing Fly that this was the only way. 

He had asked you if he should try and break you out, at least after Dutch realized you were out of his reach, but you needed Fly to attend to other tasks. You needed him to get back to camp and make sure everyone was ready to leave for the relocation. You trusted him completely, after all, you knew his priorities were the people at the camp, they were his family just as they were yours.

As you looked up at the small window that was showing you what freedom looks like, you had mixed feelings, you hated what was in store for you, yet, you also never wanted to leave this prison, you felt protected if your logic was anything to go by.

“So you gave up?” the woman speaks, her question has you pausing again, lips parting as you glance over to her. Being told you had given up was something no one wanted to hear, so naturally, you grew defensive. 

“There was nothing else I could do.” you gripe.

She rolls her eyes, “Don't tell me you turned yourself in,”

“So what if I did?”

“You’re in denial, you did give up.”

“Then what are you doing here?” you snip back.

The woman leans forward into the light, and then you see her face matted with bruises and dried blood. “Was showing these bastards a thing or two.” she vaguely explains. 

Your first reaction is to give her a bored look, “Fine, didn't really care either way.” you spit.

She laughs softly at this, “Nah, I was defending my little boy from this, animal. And after I killed him, no one wanted to hire someone like me, and finding food for him got harder and harder, and eventually, I stooped to robbing, then murder, then a combination of both.”

“So you weren't in it for a thrill?” you ask, your mind immediately thought of Micha, that snake, you wanted to skin him alive. 

“Not then, no.” 

“Biggest regret then?”

She ponders a moment, “no,” she pauses, “I think my biggest regret was never learning how to sew.”

You weren't sure if you were supposed to laugh or not, so you did a little bit of both, chuckling softly, “What do you mean?”

The woman looks to you with serious intent, “I never learned how to.” 

Well, that's just sad, you never did much sewing nowadays, but you at least new the basics. 

“What about you?” she asks. And it's your turn to think.

“Well, I always wanted to be part of a circus.” And that sends the woman laughing, 

“You’re joking right?” and her laughter was contagious, so you laughed with her.

“No ma’am,” you smile, “Regret never being part of the circus, never seein’ Paris, never doin’ anything more with my life other than chasing this mad, hateful shadow. Makin’ me bitter and someone I don't know,” then your smile vanishes, and with a sigh, you add, “saddest part of all? Never got to tell the man I loved how I felt neither.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Time there had flown by much faster than you could have imagined. Days had passed, and the both of you actually hit it off real nice, exchanging stories of how things could've been or how things couldn't have been different in an attempt to cheer the other up.

You held back the pain that wished you could have met her before life handed you both such a terrible hand so you could show her and her boy a decent living with the rest of the folks you took in. That was always your intent with your family back at camp, you were going to finish what needed to be finished and then come back with Arthur, together create an honest and sustainable living in some farmland. But now, well that would never be a reality, would it?

  
  
  
  
  
  


Some part of you was waiting, waiting to be saved, waiting for anything to tell you this was all just some cruel joke to get you to come to terms with what you wanted in life. Opening your eyes, you look forward and down at the wood that felt all too flimsy to hold up your weight. Your lips part to spill the shuddering breath. You wanted to lash out, wanted to do something to stop this. There was so much you still had to do, so much you had to say. 

Pain flashes across your face, before that grim voice comes to find you, you recognized this feeling, didn't you? All you had to do now was accept everything that was about to happen. If you couldn't control the situation, you could risk being like all those other fools who break themselves trying to fight and thrash around in denial, or, you could come to terms with things, accept it, so that you may find peace before you go. 

Yet, that agonizing thought would come to the surface, every time you tried. You no longer heard the world around you. Never mind hearing about your crimes as the judge speeches to the onlookers. All you kept thinking about was how you could come to terms with having never told Arthur how you felt. You had so much to give back to Arthur, all those wonderful things, big or small, that he did for you without being asked to. It would be a waste, wouldn't it? For him?

This isn't what you wanted. Not by a long shot and you couldn't accept that you were anything but willing to take your fate. 

Tears of frustration welled up in your vision, The lawman treads heavily against the wood behind you, a moment passes before he’s clutching your hair and ringing it back. You offer the slightest resistance before easing into the uncomfortable bend of your spine. Wrists flexing against the restraints as they lurch to relieve the pain. Your eyes snap shut as the rope is pulled down over your face.

With the final clutch of the noose tightening its embrace so slightly around your delicate neck, your breath felt heavy, like it was too thick to expel. Like something would ooze from your throat if you shuddered too violently. As you opened your eyes one final time to the sky, the glitter of scope has your attention. You blinked away your tears trying to get a better look at what that was. And when the head lifts from behind the rifle, you see the distant sight of Arthur. That black hat and bandana of his wrapped around his features. 

You would be beaming with elation, if not for the unease that churned in your already sickened gut. Was Arthur here to finish the job? Did Dutch send him? Your senses were suddenly acute and aware, you stole a quick glance at the woman you got to know over the past few days and noticed she too had seen the perched and ominous body on top of the cliff across the way. 

As your eyes are flicking around, you see the judge approach the lever. Your panic spikes a moment, heart jumping at every motion the judge makes towards the bar. 

And at once, the loud crack splits the air in the valley, you jump as a result, terrified and startled. As your lids quickly spring back open having realized you still had the functionality of your body, the cold sweat had worsened, but the commotion to your right has your attention. The woman had been sprung loose, the noose around her neck was hanging weightlessly off of her back now as she lunged forward towards the judge. 

That split moment of hope skips through your chest, your eyes watched with amazement, that was until time seemed to slow dramatically. 

You felt sick, watching helplessly as the judge is reaching for the lever. The lawmen around both of you had been reaching for their guns, but that fact felt so distant, you knew your life depended on that lever remaining forward. The floor you stood on feeling incredibly unstable, and as you watched the judge grip the handle, you shut your eyes.

It didn't matter anymore if that woman made it to the man or not. That level was being cranked back. And as a result, the twitch from the floor under you had your heart dropping and shatter. It disappeared somewhere beyond your comprehension. Your air caught in your throat, no noise could be made when you feel the floor give, your body is falling with it. Your stomach is flipping over and over itself the further you fall. The noose only seemed to squeeze harder around your delicate throat. 

That was until you hit the dirt in the most ungraceful of fashions. 

You release a startled yelp. You hadn't expected to be dropped from such a tall order. And your ankle protested only slightly as it is bent in the most concerning of ways and that deep purple pain that resonated from the joint had you writhing backward into the dirt. Spine arching as you struggled to see past the intensity. 

You bared your teeth, clenching painfully tight as you hissed your discomfort. Opening your eyes, as you hear another shot ring out, seemed muffled this time around as you were laying under the execution platform. You looked to the small square that was now opened to the sky above. 

You pause a moment, feeling your throat. The rope of the noose still hung around your neck, the end of it frayed.

Another shot rings out, and you're refocusing on your next course of action. You hear footsteps racing and fumbling above you, and when out of the corner of your eye you see the woman you had grown so comfortable with flop lifelessly down the steps. Her eyes seemed to stare into you as the last bits of life drained from her. She choked and slowly her limbs were pulling in on themselves. 

Your attention is ripped away when the light above you is blocked out, you snap your eyes to the hole in the floor. A lawman stands above, some breed of anger pinning you down into the mud even more as he steadies his pistol down at you. 

For a moment you don't know what to do. You were still adjusting to the fact that events had unfolded this way. You tried to kick yourself into action, but your adrenaline was keeping you too numbed to react. That's when another shot rumbles through the air. 

You're quick to flinch away. And that much is what saves you. The lawman lurches to the side. And as a result, he fires his pistol. 

The shot misses as you threw yourself out of the way. 

A pained groan leaves him, and with it, the pistol falls to the ground. Calling to you with its silver temptation. 

More shots are ringing through the valley. And you're reaching for the gun. 

You roll over on your side, jutting the cylinder out and counting the rounds. Only five remained, you'd have to make them count.

Everyone had fled from the show, not a civilian in sight as you scanned for your escape. You tried to get up, kneeling and pushing off the ground, yet the mean ache in your ankle had you doubling over, a sharp scream escapes you. Your subconscious suspected it was worse than you feared, if your adrenaline couldn't do much for the pain it must have been bad. 

You grit your teeth, pushing forward. You didn't have time to baby it. You had to leave, and fast. 

Crawling out from under the platform you take a glance at Arthur's last known position, you don't see him, but you sure as hell see shots ricocheting off the rocks around it. 

You had to focus on yourself right now just so Arthur's effort, and that woman's sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. You see a couple horses on the opposite side of the platform, throwing their heads and threatening to flee themselves. 

Not without you at least.

Dragging yourself to your feet, you rely heavily on the wooden support columns. Groaning to yourself as you test how much pressure you could put on your ankle which you hesitated to deem as broken. You end up jumping mostly, hobbling your way to one of the horses. 

The red roan looks at you fearfully as you inch your way closer. And you reach out as a last ditching effort to the reigns. The horse jumps away but the pressure on its face from the bridle has it coming closer.

It was incredibly awkward and difficult. Trying to steady your balance and reach forward to grab the sliver of leather with a pistol in your other hand that was tied too tightly to the other. 

You were only able to grab one reign as you threw yourself into the saddle, your badly treated ankle protested immensely. The unfamiliar horse under you jumped sideways. And for a short bit, the air from your core was being pumped out as the collected trot jostled you as you laid stomach flat against the saddle. 

You growled at the horse, which didn't help much, but as you tried to throw your other leg up and over you urged the horse to ease up. A fruitless attempt, but you were sitting upright in no time. You steadied yourself in the saddle a moment, ducking every so often when a round of gunshots would be exchanged. 

With only one reign in one hand, and the other crowded out with a pistol, remembering how to ride a horse seemed to make you uneasy. After all, it was first nature to be in the saddle. But with your wrists tied together and your leg delicate and in pain you felt like you were trying to write with your least dominant hand. How uncomfortable.

You chased after the horse with your voice, snarling at it, and it was enough to have the horse scampering off with it being so high strung already. It bucked at you a bit, unfamiliar with the individual atop it's back. But the more you gave direction, the easier it got. 

The horse races off out of town, heading north-west through what you assumed was Big Valley, and into the trees. At some point during your blind panic you had taken to gripping tightly into the horses mane, sitting up off the saddle with your one good leg in the stirrup and your other leg just trying to wrap around the horse and stay on. You had a hard time calming down and adjusting to the fact your bum leg kept driving the horse to the right.

You couldn't help it. You were in pain and bound, it would have been frustrating if it weren't the for the fact you were running to run. That adrenaline from before turned your vision tunneling.

You tried your best to stay off the main path, or at least, you didn't know which way was straight and which way wasn't for all you know you could have been going in circles. Your focus kept straight ahead though, and your death grip on the horse’s mane was something desperate as you pushed the horse hard. It was doubtful that you recognize this yourself. 

You had grown so familiar with Ace, accustomed to what he was capable of, you didn't realize what was happening when the horse was whinnying, throwing its head and flopping its hooves through the terrain.

Mentally stopping a moment, you recognize you need to think clearer and calm down. You give the horse it's head a little, letting it gradually roll to whatever the horse was needing. And as the horse regains more of its breath, your head is on a spindle, darting around every which way on the lookout for any threats or places to hide. 

Grimacing at the very secluded and endless vast amount of trees, you have no idea where you ended up. You didn't recognize the color of mud beneath you and this unfamiliar horse. The trees were a different shade, the rocks as well. Your mind reacted, and the sharp rise in anxiety at the realization you were lost has your breath quickening again. 

You feel more than see a rambunctious group on your tail. The sound of hooves bouncing off through the dense forest seemed to bounce off your chest. 

Pausing a second and your breath ceasing, you look off behind you, trying to see where the commotion was coming from. You think you see movement in the distance and that's enough to send you into more chaotic tremblings. 

Getting after the horse again, you realize the exhausted horse isn't going any faster, no matter how much you snarled and pushed it's neck forward. 

You finally break the tree line, you're greeted with a muddied path and a full open field, flowers of every color consuming the grass, you don't have time to appreciate the beauty however, your eyes are already following the path, hoping on hope that the horse can benefit from the even ground and speed up a bit. 

But as the lawmen are gaining, your mind is barking at you, biting and hissing, telling you to make a choice. You swallow hard at what options are available to you. 

You couldn't run let alone walk from your hunters, you needed this horse. 

However, you knew this horse wasn't going to last long, and you were sooner to be shot or lassoed before getting away. You contemplate jumping off the horse and abandoning it. But the landing would likely risk injuring your only useful ankle. What else was there?

The bullet that whizzes past your head has you ducking, and all thoughts are quickly pushed aside. You needed to act now.

Reaching forward, reign still in hand you gently soothe the horse behind its ears. Offering it release from your insistent driving, with both wrists tied together it was awkward. But you manage to grip the reign of the bridle tight, and in one uninterrupted motion, you jerk the horses head to the right. You shut your eyes as you pull the trigger, teeth clenched tight and heart heavy. The loud ripple through the air and the jut through your body have you tensing up.

The body under you stills, and both are crashing into the mud. Your left shoulder takes most of the impact, a loud grunt escapes before the wind is knocked out of you. You gasp a moment, anxious to rid yourself of the haunting feeling. Gun still locked in your hand while you twist oddly.

Your injured ankle, however, is trapped under the body of the red roan, that only brings you more panic. But as the warm corpse on top of you remains unmoved, you lift your gun up, you could just see so much with the belly covering the path behind you.

You hear a couple of shots fire off, some digging into the dirt just to your side and others ripping into the flesh that had you pinned down. 

You put your mind to work, caging off your fear in exchange for fight. With shaky hands, you ready the hammer and squeeze back on the trigger.

You counted two, both of them rushing up to you on their horses. 

Missed. 

The man jumps down before he's raising his gun up again. 

You fire instinctively. 

Missed again. 

Another! And make it count!

That you did, the man is falling backward, either writhing in pain or dead.

The one coming up on your left, fires his gun, a rifle, the shot nicks your good leg that was pathetically draped over the belly of the horse.

You would have felt it if you weren't so focused on prolonging your life. The pain does, however, have you pushing it into the seat of the saddle to worm your way out. Your final shot is spent. And the man crumbles to the floor. He was crying in pain, and clutching tightly to his rifle. But you counted him as dead with how much blood was spilling out. 

You stretch and twist your way out the rest of the way from under the dead horse. Elbows digging into the mud as you pulled yourself out from under the last few inches. You pant a moment, trying to ease your nerves.

Then you hear rattling behind you, and your breath is stolen again. Quickly you roll into your back, gun extended towards the stalker, and before you can register the hunter, your gun is being kicked from your grasp. The pain of your skin pinched between two hard barriers is short lived when the barrel of a shotgun is on full view to your nose. How familiar that was. 

Before you have time to reminisce your hands are quick to grab the barrel, shoving it away from your face with a grip that lingers too long. When the gun fires, your body releases a violent shudder, all your tension however is soaked into your hands , gripping deathly tighter. 

Your exhaustion is catching up to you when you try and throw the gun away, you release a desperate scream, pushing all your remaining energy and more into getting the man overtop of you to stop. Whatever that entailed.

With enough force you could muster, your functioning leg is quick to drive your heel into the man's groin.

The hunters grip on the gun loosens at this as he’s crumbling down and kneeling, you don't have time to fit the shotgun into a working position, your hands were at too much of an angle to stabilize the weapon. The man grips his hand around the noose that still hung around your throat and it takes you by surprise. 

So you throw it.

The gun hits the man in the face before sliding off somewhere to the ground. You roll to your side and sit yourself up on your bum leg’s knee, the man is collecting himself at this point, and that spurs you to move faster. 

You lean forward to stand up, only to be interrupted when his fist collides with your jaw, there's a sharp sting of a cut spreading through your lip, likely when you forgot to keep your teeth snapped shut. 

Quickly recovering and remaining on your knees, you wouldn't go any lower said your determination. You stumble as you rise to your feet, driving your shoulder up and towards the man, you have enough power to knock him off balance, and the both of you are tumbling into the mud. 

The physical contact is unwanted, but when you sit up enough to get your leg around his arm, trapping it under your weight, you let your weight dig into the center of his spine. He thrashes a bit, and before he can collect himself, you reach your bound hands forward, around the mans face and across his neck.

Releasing a steady breath, you pull back. The binding digs into your skin as you pull back further and further,  your eyes weren't trained to the bend of his spine, no, you kept pulling and pulling until the man ceased to move. 

He offers a struggle, violently throwing his chest against the mud and his free arm pulled at your restraints, digging his nails into the skin of your hands and arm. That only had you pulling tighter. And as your eyes stare off down the road, looking at nothing but the field of flowers, you wait and allow your mind to force the current situation from your conciousness. Breath finding you the more the man slows down until all that's left is the choked gasping which you felt more than heard. Even when the body falls pliant and limp under you, you refuse to move, you wanted to be sure in the most distracted way possible. 

And as the world around you begins to reach your ears again, you take a steadying breath and try not to look down at the body under you. It was nerve racking as you tried to free your restraint from around his neck, his head only flopped between your arms the more you tried to remove them. 

Nausea was sitting heavy in the back of your throat, and the more you thought on it, the more you needed to get up. You stumbled off of the road, crawling mostly as you dragged yourself into the woods. 

No longer could you fight the battle your stomach was waging on you.

As you heeved, nothing came up but clear fluid. You supposed you should be grateful that much came up, your body had retained at least some of its hydration. Well, that was gone now. 

After you collected yourself, and shed the few tears that had been itching to spill out, you looked around at how vulnerable you were out in the open like this. You were sure you didn't have long until someone came sniffing on your trail or looking for their lost lawmen. You take a second to look over your ankle, you tug at your boot, but when it resists coming off like it does the pain that has you dropping your curiosity is enough to make you hiss. You weren't sure what happened, and the pain had your heartbeat quickening. Your strands of curses fall on deaf ears. 

You crawl over to a tree and support yourself with it as you rise up from the ground. Spending a moment to breathe through your discomfort you test your restraints, your frustration only builds, and your lack of control has you searching for something you could control.

Hobbling deeper into the woods, your hands feel raw as they scratch against tree bark and branches, heavily leaning on the support. You werent sure how long you kept this up, you only knew to run, and keep running, you wanted to accomplish that task as quickly as you could, but your handicap has your frustration welling into tears again. 

You weren't sure what to process first, you had so many questions weighing on you, the guilt of not being able to stop that kind woman's death, you tried to think of what more you could have done but for once you were at a loss. Had you been so busy wallowing in your own sorrow to have been blinded to the things you could have done? You tried to turn these thoughts around with reminding yourself that the woman had gone out fighting, if it was one thing you learned, it was that the woman was hellbent on trying till her very last. 

What of Arthur? Did he escape unscathed? You had to find the will inside you to put a stop to those thoughts, You couldn't do anything about them right now and needed to focus on getting yourself to safety. How selfish were you to focus on yourself? You couldn't stop the spiraling thoughts. And time stretches tremendously.

The walk takes more than you have, thankfully enough time passes and you're finding a sliver of salvation. A rather small cabin built on the hill of a small clearing, it looked warm and inviting. You would have grimaced at the long stretch of grassy field that seemed much longer than it was, walking over there, or whatever your poor excuse of walking was at this moment would take a painfully lone time. 

But, it was somewhere with four walls and a door that wasn't locked or unlocked by anyone else. At least, that's what you thought. 

You made your way to the cabin, the steps that made their way up to the porch took you an embarrassingly long time to climb, mostly using your hands and knees to climb the steps.  

As you reached the porch, you knocked on the front door, no sense in trying to hide you were there with the amount of racket you made getting up the steps. 

When you heard nothing from the otherside you tested the handle, it offered only the smallest bit of resistance to you before opening. 


	14. Mystic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That stretch of road felt like the longest, you didn't think it would ever end, especially as the rain began to sink past your layers and to your skin. You wished Arthur would risk it and push Rodin faster, but, then you chided yourself, Rodin likely needed a rest too, and you were confident it would have been hard to gallop in the rain with it so heavy like this. You were only able to see the area around you when the light flickered through the clouds anyways. But, dammit, was it cold. You were uncomfortable, and nothing you did to distract yourself seemed to be enough.
> 
>  
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

       Figuring you should be used to this sort of thing by now, the silence and pain only fueled that annoying ache that signifies your level of lonesome. You had gotten as comfortable as you could in that tiny hut. You weren't sure where to go or which direction you ran off to after the meltdown in Strawberry, and you were struggling to figure out how you could find anything with no efficient method of travel. Your ankle was messed up; you knew if you removed your boot you'd never get it back on, so you left it alone as you sat with just your thoughts. It was killing you to be so immobilized, you were someone of action, and when you didn't figure something out, you'd bolt over and throw something around until more options opened up.

You were ready to cry feeling so exhausted from lack of nourishment and sleep, with pain on top of that and a mind that wouldn't cease, you were running at the end of your rope.

The sound of hooves rings in your ears, a loud snort to accompany it. You looked out the window from where you sat but didn't see anything besides the tall trees. So you pushed it from your mind. But, then the sound of frantic stomping up the steps outside has you feeling, and immediately you're jumping up. 

The individual runs up onto the porch. You have just enough time to grab the small chair that partnered with the writer's desk and slap your back against the log layered wood wall. Your nail dig into the wood of the back support on the chair, you made quite a racket getting over to the wall. 

And as the door swings open, you shut your eyes and muster up enough strength to send the chair at them. You are swinging upwards towards their face. And as the body stumbles back, and offers some resistance you keep up the pressure, the pain in your ankle had you seeing white, but that only pushed your desperation. You didn't notice when precisely the chair had crumbled so pathetically as it did, you could just register the fact you had an object in hand, and you were using it to beat your attacker if you could call them that.

You open your eyes when your weapon doesn't connect with anything, and instead, the wood piece seems stuck. Panic washes over you a moment before you recognize what was happening. 

It was Arthur!

He had grabbed your weapon with one hand, and his pistol was threatening you square between the eyes as he was laid flat out on his back. The two of you share a look that can only be described as muddled. 

“Morgan?!” you squeak. The roles seemed reversed from that time a year ago.

Arthur lurches up from the porch, “Goddammit, Grey!” He rips the wooden scrap from your hand and throws it to the floor.

You can only gasp out, “Arthur,” reaching down as much as you could to offer him your help, “I thought you were a bounty hunter.”

The man turns to pick up his hat, shaking his head before he stands up and shoves it on, “You ain't had a bounty on your head before?" He asks rhetorically.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I, - well I wasn't sure what to expect…” you hurry out, as your eyes are darting around at the woodline.

“I could have killed you!” he retorts.

Your head shrivels away between your shoulders, “But ya didn't,” you release with a caught breath, still calming down from the event.

Arthur grabs your arm gently, “Shut up and get inside,” he ushers. 

You turn to hobble your way back inside, “You shouldn't have surprised me like that,” Is your defense.

He shuts the door behind him, “Surprised you say,” he looks around at the room a moment before he’s eyeing your state, “Jesus, Grey, what did you do to yourself?” He quizzes as he moves closer to you, taking your hand which you gladly take for support as he’s sitting you down on the bed. 

His fingers are brushing along the skin of your face, your lip was too busy being irritated and swollen to feel his tender touch. When you wince away from the contact, he retracts it a moment before tracing down to your arms, and his eyes do the rest of his examining. His hand softly takes the rope that had been hanging so tauntingly around your neck and lifts it over your head before tossing it aside. 

Kneeling down, the man takes up your ruined ankle, and you open your mouth “I musta’ twisted it something fierce when I -” you swallowed thickly. Just thinking back to it seems like another lifetime, you weren't sure what happened and what didn't at the moment. Then the man moves to remove your boot, and you let out a yelp that has the man freezing and seizing his curiosity.

His face scrunches with worry, then a bit of frustration, before he’s looking at you, “No, I get it now. You’re worse than Marston.” Before you could bicker back, he continues, “Being blind ass lucky through every tussle in your life, ain’t cause you're a genius or anything.”

The jesting would have been welcomed if you weren't so stressed out from earlier.

“Look, I didn't know what to do okay? Barely had any sleep these past three days, so I apologize if I'm a bit jumpy,” you explain as your hands are coming up to your head rubbing along your temple as you fight off your exhaustion. 

Arthur gently releases your leg and stands up, “Well I’m here now, so I suppose your luck's run out, round up your things, we’re moving.” he explains with a gentle pat along the outside of your thigh. 

“I just got here..” you sigh out. Nothing resistant of course, just tired. 

Arthur grabs your hands and equips his knife, before ever so carefully cutting away at the binds that felt almost as if they were part of your hands now. “Yeah, I know, I saw what was left of that sorry nag a way back,” the binds fall to the floor with some effort and you can almost relax again, “you ain't been making much progress, on the whole, losing a trail thing have ya?” he asks before lighting a cigarette. 

You were too drained to offer a witty come back. Instead, you only shook your head, you were struggling to even keep up with the information, not yet had time to really process everything. 

The man takes a drag from his smoke, “Come on then, let's get you on track, we can talk more as we let this heat die down, they can't be too far from being on ya.” 

“I don't have much with me right now.”

“Yeahp, seeing as most of your things were still on that horse you prided over, and when you resorted to attacking me upside the head with a chair, I figure most of what you’re carrying on you right now is deadweight,” Arthur explains. Handing you his cigarette as he’s taking your left shoulder, you wince only a fraction at how sore it had gotten over the time between now and the crash. 

You lean on him completely, trusting a majority of your weight to him, which he takes gracefully, as his right arm is wrapping around your torso and helping you along and down the steps. You contemplate taking the cigarette to your lips, the deep breath would help your nerves surely. 

As you release a breath, Arthur is speaking up, “I know a running outlaw when I see one, they all look alike,” he drags as the both of you slowly make your way down and towards Arthur’s horse. “Myself included,” he adds regrettably as if an afterthought.

You make a small noise in the back of your throat at that, not sure if it was sad, or laughing, or some sour mix of both. 

Both of you approach Rodin who looked sweaty and thoroughly worked, but he still had his head up, he was eager to get back to it, at least willing perhaps. Before either of you mount up, he takes the cigarette from you and finishes it off, as you watched him do this, and he watches you watching him, you get a good look at the more exhausted features on his display. The way the muscles around his eyes were flexed had you thinking the man had a raging headache.

“I'm sorry about the chair to your head, Arthur.” you softly admit. 

He snuffs out the cigarette with his boot after he tosses it to the ground, gently he responds, “you’re okay, honey.” He guides you to get ready to mount up onto Rodin’s back. Mostly throwing you up as if you weighed nothing and you waited there until he got comfortable in the saddle. It felt great not having to stand. “Now, if you do it again, I’m obliged to return the favor…” he adds, low and teasing as he sends Rodin forward. 

“That’s fair,” you respond as your hands are quick to grasp his coat for stability. “How did you find me anyways?”

“Well, I watched you during the show you started in Strawberry and saw you hightail it to the mountains, besides like I said, takes one to know one.”

“The show I started?” you quip, “I wasn't the one raining bullets into the valley.”  he chuckles at this.

You can hear more than see the smile in his voice, “You’re welcome.” he states. And that earns him a jut from your finger, poking him sharply in the rib. He reacts only slightly before bouncing back and a laugh still heavy in his throat. 

The last filaments of daylight had vanished, and the woods around you appeared so much thicker. Unsure of what sounds were threatening and which were not in such unfamiliar lands had you unconsciously gripping onto the man tighter.

You nerves had been shot since this morning, and the lack of sleep made you that much more likely to be haywire. Arthur’s presence was enough to send the frayed ends of the threads that was holding you together tearing. 

“Being up there,” you croak, “the feeling was, outlandish, the rope around my neck was just rope, but it felt like something I've never even heard of.” Barely keeping your voice from trembling as you admit, “Honestly I didn't know if you were there to kill me, or help.”

Arthur’s back straightens at this, head jutting to the side as his eye peers over his shoulder at you, “now why would you think such a thing?”

“I ain't even too sure how many days had passed, I mean, with Dutch -”

“If its because I’m loyal to Dutch, then you could hush up about that nonsense, being loyal to someone ain't mean I share the ideas neither,” he turns forward, “especially as of late.” he drawls. You can only duck your head in shame for having him think you would insinuate that. “No, I know what you meant, been a long couple days for ya hasn't it?”

Your grip tightens at the thought, feeling understood even if a little had you feel overwhelmed, “What do we do now?” you asked urgently before your tears became unmanageable, “What happened to Jack? Is he okay?”

“Relax.” is all he says.

“Arthur,” you ground, some pitiful sounding whine which was either a plea for relief or a warning to tell him to quit fooling around.

“Calm down, Jack is fine, don't distress yourself anymore.” 

You retreated again at his words, feeling relief, you wanted to know more as that small blip of curiosity greeted you, but, if Arthur says the boy is okay, well that already took a massive weight off of your heart. Only broken sobs of relief could be heard from your lips, emitted between thanking God and being so worried. 

“What about Fly? Did he make it back to camp okay? Is -”

“Grey,” Arthur warns, “I’m here now, you’re not alone in this anymore alright?” he softly assures. It wasn't an answer, but his words offer to you a door you might have been needing since long before. You had to allow yourself to open that door. Open the door to let yourself share those burdens you had been carrying all alone, to allow someone to direct you and make choices for you. The idea felt so freeing after being crushed under that stone you couldn't seem to shake for who knows how long. 

Didn't mean you felt any less guilty about indulging in it though.

You tried, painfully so, not to make any noise when you allowed yourself to cry. It was relief, anger, and fear all at once. 

Arthur remained silent as he guided Rodin, crossing a shallow creek and thanks to the half moon that beamed overhead, the light was just enough to pave the way, soothing those anxious thoughts of not being able to see much. You weren't sure if Arthur knew where he was going, or if he was making it up as he went along, but with nothing to gauge but the back of his head and the ever so occasional glance he would give to forks in the road, you figured he was searching for something specific. 

With nightfall bringing a chill to the air, you were able to resist shivering but only just. It was when you realized that Arthur was staying north of the railroad tracks, he had taken the turn you made during your race and kept racing east to the Dakota river.

You could understand that he was avoiding towns and train stations, yet, the further east he went, the further the temperature dropped. Subconsciously you wrapped your arms around him, it was like he was giving off more heat than you were, and you weren't about to question it. 

  
  
  
  
  


At some point, you were being awoken by an icy touch when the temperature got increasingly frigid. You weren't sure where you were at, but you knew it was nowhere desirable, Arthur was still focused on riding Rodin forward, pushing the horse to the point even in the dark you could see heat rising from its skin. When you lifted your head from Arthurs shoulder blades, you saw snow to your left, and immediately you shuddered away. 

Not helping the whine that left your throat you rubbed your face against Arthur’s back, you wanted to get away from the lawmen, but not like this, you didn't want to be up in the cold again. 

“You’re okay,” he drawls, “I need to get you somewhere warm, I know, hang with me for a bit, alright, Sweetheart?” 

You nod, rubbing your face up and down against his warm shoulder, “yeah” you mumble, not too sure what you were saying yes to.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Throughout the ride you were dipping in and out of sleep, woken by a variety of instances, if it wasn't the sound of hooves attacking the bridge to a very harrowing fall it was the occasional howling of wolves that picked up your trail. You remember clinging to Arthur even more after you came to, startled by the possible threat of falling or being eaten by animals. Arthur had paid them no mind and kept Rodin straight on. You were even pleasantly surprised when the loud rush of water that shot up from the ground had your heart quickening a bit. You recognized it as Cotorra Springs, you've never been much further than this though, either way, it had you lulled back to sleep with pleasant thoughts, thinking back to the teasing remarks Arthur had given you what seemed like a lifetime ago during the race. That was until the sound of snarling and snapping jaws at your injured ankle had you springing for Arthur more so than usual with a surprised gasp being ripped from your lungs. 

You got a better look after you blinked away your quickly retreating slumber, the wolf was unusually massive in size, and its stride was keeping up almost effortlessly with Rodin’s, some speed demon was hunting you, and you were not awake enough to realize it was the wolf against Arthur. 

“Get away!” The grieving tone Arthur warned the beast with had you clinging tighter, and when Arthur turned his torso a bit your eyes realize his arm was drawing his pistol. Extending it towards the wolf and firing off a couple rounds. The sound alone had more of your adrenaline coming back out. And like music to your ears the wolf is sent scampering away with a tail tucked and a whimper from its nose. 

With the excitement dying down, Arthur had returned to his main adjective seemingly unphased, but his silence worried you a bit, but you also knew both of you were very tired, at least, you were. 

When you got comfortable against Arthur’s back once more, you were willing to be swept away this time, accepting the luring call of slumber despite how cold you were. Between stress and lack of sleep, your temperature seemed to be the least of your worries now as your body began to turn numb without you realizing it. You felt sick, and sleep seemed to be the only cure. 

As you were crossing the bridge over a Ravine you'd never been to before, you felt a tingling sensation, on the back of your neck. You ignored it for the most part until you felt something more oppressive, fluid like as it dripped down your spine. You instantly lurched straight at the surprise, Arthur turned his head a bit to see you from over his shoulder, checking to see if you were okay. When he looked forward, he flinched a little before he looked up to the sky slightly and then over his hands.

It had started to rain, and by the feel of it, it didn't look like it was going to be any spring misting either. Much to your surprise, Arthur asked Rodin to slow up.

Before the pounding sound of rain could drown out all other audibility, you hear Rodin snorting, almost wheezing as his nostrils kept wide open for oxygen. Arthur shimmies from your death grip on him, you didn't realize how hard you were squeezing until you had to let go, feeling a soreness all through your body as blood was being moved through your stiff joints. Arthur was shaking off his coat as he kept Rodin moving at a relaxed walk.

When Arthur was out of it, he shifted a little, taking your hand and forcing it into one of the sleeves of his coat

It was warm, good God it was warm, your body rippled with goosebumps at the sensation, anxiously stuffing your other arm into the sleeves as well. Your voice betrayed you as you thanked him, trembling when you wished to assure him you were doing just fine, however the way he forced you to wear it had you thinking he knew you better than to ask. You were just as stubborn as he was after all. 

You felt terrible to have taken his warmth, more so as the rain started to come down harder. And when the silent lightning flashed across the sky, you got a good look at the road ahead. And it was steep. Rocks and rain poured down into the small path that stretched up to the dark and looming sky above. 

So, you feverishly wrapped your arms around Arthur’s torso again huddling closer in an attempt to keep his spine warmed at least. You tried to distract him and yourself with careful hands, flicking at his clothing and belt, which he took notice to, but he didn't make any move to move faster either, despite the weather. It was probably for the best, you suddenly remembered him talking to you about how slippery it had gotten in the mountains. That night he returned to camp with that horrible mauling- it did a number on him for sure, it wasn't a surprise to see him taking it easy this time around. 

After all, he had someone with him this time. 

That stretch of road felt like the longest, you didn't think it would ever end, especially as the rain began to sink past your layers and to your skin. You wished Arthur would risk it and push Rodin faster, but, then you chided yourself, Rodin likely needed a rest too, and you were confident it would have been hard to gallop in the rain with it so heavy like this. You were only able to see the area around you when the light flickered through the clouds anyways. But, dammit, was it cold. You were uncomfortable, and nothing you did to distract yourself seemed to be enough. 

Before you reached the top, however, the thoughts you used to deter your mind away from your discomfort was enough to encourage sleep to steal you away again, and you were flat out against Arthur’s back once more. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


When your arm is harshly grabbed and yanked forward you're jerking awake. The incline of the slope being traveled was enough to send your unconscious body backward. Arthur had caught you in time to wake you up so you can secure your grip around him once more. 

And that you did, tensing your arms and pooling all your available energy to pull yourself towards him. 

Through the pouring rain you make out his words, “We’re here, Grey.” he informs, exhaustion laced into his tone. 

Rodin was still hiking up the hill, somewhere he split off the main road. You sat up straight however, head on a spindle trying to find what he was talking about. In the place you least expect, a massive watchtower made from heavy logs overlooked the grandiose valley to your right. You suspected morning light was only an hour away so you couldn't appreciate the view as much as you'd have liked. 

When Rodin cleared the incline, there looked to be an abandoned camp just in front of the loft tower. Arthur directed the very exhausted horse in front of the wooden bricks that led up to what looked like the sanctuary. 

Arthur was the first to get off, recovering quickly and not having to turn around to face you, he’s already by your side.

“Take it slow,” he encourages, offering you his hand. 

You were eager to get inside, slow was not in your vocabulary at this moment. And so you tried to throw your leg over the saddle and hop off, but, to your subtle surprise, the painful reminder is that your legs haven't moved in hours during the cold night, and your ankle, well it didn't have anything nice to contribute when you bumped it against the horn of the saddle. 

You react, leg falling back down to the side as both you and Arthur hiss at the thought alone. The pain finds you rather quickly, but you suspected it was also numbed to hell or healing. 

Trying again, you were very determined to sit on something other than the rump of a horse. Arthur was there of course, arms steadying you as you slid off of Rodin, you try and stand, suddenly forgetting how that works exactly, and thankfully Arthur is there to keep you upright. You forget you can't use your left ankle and frazzled you tries it again anyways. 

Muffling the groan that erupts from your throat, lips pursed together as you lean on Arthur, left arm draped around his shoulders. Your shoulder wasn't taking that crash from yesterday too well neither. You hurt all over. And as much as you wanted to stop, stop moving or breathing period, you were determined to get inside. The rain that showered over you both had turned your lips blue, with the constant dripping from your hair, the stinging in your eyes was something you pushed to your back burner of concerns. 

Considering Arthur was carrying you the entire way, both of you made it up the steps pretty quickly. And as Arthur pushed through the door, he’s scanning the area with keen eyes, and his gun drawn before he’s finding the bed, on the far side of the room and sitting you down. He springs up and looks around the corners of the room before finding the ladder which you only assumed led to the spacious watch post above the structure. 

You couldn't find it in you to be too concerned about if anyone else was there or not, you just wanted to be rid of this discomfort you had been carrying all night. And you weren't sure what to address first, just sitting on an actual bed out of the rain and wind was enough to satisfy some bit of you it seemed. 

When Arthur came sliding back down the ladder, he had his pistol away, and grabbed the chair in the middle of the room and dragged it towards the bed you sat on. 

“Alright, Grey, let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” he softly eases, starting with the coat he told you to take earlier. It hurt, everything hurt of course, but your body had gotten so stiff from the cold, and not to mention how you've probably pulled and strained every muscle in your body at this point. You wanted to get it done and over with quickly.

Removing the two layers of coats that had been soaked through completely, Arthur sat back in his chair and removed your boot on your right before gingerly lifting your left leg and looked to you a moment as if letting you know he was going to remove it whether you liked it or not. And you grimaced immediately as he moved to tug off your boot. The pain was sharper this time around compared to how it had been jostled over and over throughout the night. You had gripped his arm tight, your body’s way of telling him to stop, you knew it had to be done, but damn, it didn't make it hurt any less. 

Arthur made it quick however, letting the boot fall to the floor as he looked over your ankle with you, it was like you were opening a present. A present you didn't want.

You hissed at the sight of how purple and angry red it was, the swelling was what surprised you the most. Arthur only looked on with this face you couldn't read, his brows were furrowed as if he was looking for something. He gently reached up to flex your foot, watching as your body reacted. 

Writhing, your instinct is to pull away, but he keeps you from thrashing too much, “Well it's not broken,” he explains, you were going to trust him on it, you couldn't stand to really examine it yourself at the moment. “You're gonna have to try and stretch it tomorrow though.” He adds, before letting your leg hang off over the edge of the bed. You groan at this, not wanting to even think about what that would entail. 

He brushes strands of wet hair from your forehead, lifting your face to the light behind him on the support post. You got a good look at him as he was looking over your lip, searching for any critical issues that needed to be treated instantly. He looked tired, just about as tired as you had seen him when he returned to camp after Colm strung him up like a punching bag. Your heart ached at the thought. 

As his thumb brushes along your swollen lip, you wince, and your attention is brought back to the present. 

Gently he releases your face, tucking away your hair, “I’ll go try and find something dry to start this furnace with.” he softly excuses as he's standing up and heading to the door. “You get out of those wet clothes and into something warm and dry before you lay down.” He adds.

And before you can tell him there was nothing warm or dry around you, he was already outside. You looked around for anything, you had the sense in mind to see under the bed, and you only found more bed sheets. 

Those could work perhaps?

So you stripped, shedding your shirt, and pants, it was incredibly difficult to remove your pants, so patiently you peeled off one leg, and then the other, trying your best not to squeeze or flex your ankle in any way, however the slower you went, the worse it got. Some distant consciousness had you wishing Arthur could have ripped them off for you like he did the boot. And then, the more you thought about that idea, wondering why you didn't do that, a hot blush rises to your face. You were suddenly very aware of your situation and how little it was clothed. 

And rather violently you ripped the extra sheets from under the bed and quickly tangled yourself into them, laying out onto the bed and shuddering as you realized the air was dancing over your bare skin. But, the more you shivered, the sooner the blankets around you seemed to insulate your warmth. 

Before long, the feeling of a soft surface to rest your head on was dizzying, like an anchor dragging you down deeper and deeper into the depths of its ocean of slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME SAID IT COULDNT BE DONE! But tonight it was! Wrote one decent sized chapter in a day! (Mind you, I did forget one sticky note idea, but, perhaps I can fit it in elsewhere, sniffle sniffle cough cough.)  
> Chapter 15 is where the smut will be, Ideally. I do have a request for you however; I know February 10th, my birthday will be coming up, and, I know I will be busy that day, and then right after that work has me slammed again for a good 4 days. So, what I'm requesting of you, is that if you don't see me for a good two weeks, You best come hound my booty. Because one of two things happened, either I got swallowed by a bear, (you know me, always off wrestling bears.) or I am avoiding writing the smut. Because, I'm not sure if I've let you know, but writing smut is, WELL it's intimidating. So. I might try everything I can to avoid having to do it, as wonderfully excited as I am about it, I'm TiMiD.  
> SO IF I DONT MAKE IT BACK in a good two weeks, you come give me hell, or, cut open the bear's stomach and get me out of there.  
> ~  
> But, I just want to say, it's fantastic seeing you again, I can't wait to hear what you think about it. Hearing what you think keeps me motivated to keep going. And I can't wait to finish this ride with you. And more importantly, Thank You Sincerely for taking time out of your day to read with me. You never have to, but you do, and actions are powerful. Keep up the fantastic work, and thank you again, hope to see you again soon! 🤺


	15. Can You Feel My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, Grey, there can be only one luckiest person alive,” he starts, softly taking your wrists to reveal your face, “and I don't think you'll understand when I tell you,” his hand is bringing your hands above your head into the mattress. “So let me show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~+~ WARNING ~+~  
> ~+~ WARNING ~+~ SMUT AHEAD ~+~ WARNING~+~
> 
> This chapter is my first time writing such things; I apologize for any inadequate content ahead. I'm hoping to just rip it off like a bandaid before I allow my thoughts to talk me out of posting it. I hope you enjoy it! I'll see you on the flip side!
> 
> ~+~ WARNING ~+~ SMUT AHEAD ~+~ WARNING~+~  
> ~+~ WARNING ~+~

       You weren't sure what time it was when you were becoming aware of the sensations. But the need to switch sides was there, and you followed it right over. As you did, your eyelids parted, feeling dry and heavy with sleep, you notice the body sitting hunched over in the chair that stood with the glow of the warm furnace. You were tempted by the exhaustion that lay heavy in the lower half of your brain to be taken away again, but other parts of your brain were snagged by thoughts of the person with you.

Arthur filled your mind, nothing in particular, just the simple idea of him being there. 

“Arthur,” you croaked, with eyes struggling to lift from their weighted hooks. 

The man is slow when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder, you could make out the journal and writing utensil in hand. 

What time was it? Why wasn't he resting? You raise your hand from the sheets that tangled you, patting the soft padding of the bed as a silent coax to get him to do so. He stares at you silently for a moment and doesn't move. 

Your sleepish distaste for his lack of motion has you grumbling, “Arthur,” you warn again as if the man should understand you already.

And finally, the man moves, turning back to his journal to scribble away in it some more. Your confusion has you blinking away some of the drowsiness, trying to decipher what was holding him to his chair. Did he hear you? You watch him for a moment, and to your surprise he’s shutting his journal and standing up, dragging the chair over to the bed with him. 

“When are you going to let me read what's in that book of yours?” you mumble.

Scoffing is his response, the man has a faint smile on his face as he watches you lay inanimately as he sits on the chair. 

You make an unamused noise in your throat, “M’ Serious.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in there for you to read.”

You're silent a moment, your lids closing as you listen to his voice and try your damndest to keep your thoughts from trailing into sleep again, “Never knew you for a liar, Mr. Morgan.” you drawl in a teasing tone that was laden with drowse.

“Hmph,” he starts, “having that cheeky mouth of yours runnin' when you're this deep in sleep could get you in trouble one day, Grey.”

Brows furrowing at his words, Confusion mostly, “I ‘nt Sleepin’?”

Arthur’s silence has you peeking open an eye, his eyes were wide-eyed, but you couldn't tell much of anything else with that drowsy haze lingering so heavily.

His expression falling featureless, “You are sleepin’, you’re dreamin’ you know that?”

You open your eyes at him, looking to examine him a bit more, he seemed no different besides having hung up his hat somewhere, his hair was drying and looked so soft. Your eyes hiked to the space behind him, watching the orange glow across the closed area, and your ears honed in on the snapping of logs burning. 

Were you dreaming?

“Nu-uh,” you retort, unsure of yourself. You looked to your hand and moved it around, the feeling of blood rushing around having been dormant for as long as it was sent a delicate sensation under your skin.

“How do you know?”

You think on his question a moment, your mind was racing, and with it your heartbeat as you’re suddenly shooting up from the bed. He was right! How could you know?

He seemed surprised by your sudden lurching, and he's straightening his spine as he watches your reaction. 

Eyes darting around the room, you try and take in as much detail as you could, hands rubbing against the wall log. How long were you out? Shouldn't you have woken up by now? What about -

Hearing more than seeing Arthur’s insufferable laughing has your mind churning, and then like a slap to the face, your realization hits.

“Arthur!” You snarl, looking for anything to throw at him for scaring you like he did. He’s collecting himself rather quickly like he always does, that shit eating grin of his gleaming at you. “And here I was, thinkin’ about your health and how you should be restin’ up.”

“Oh, Grey,” he breathes still recovering from his laughing fit, “You shoulda seen your face,”

You were torn between being embarrassed and angry, his breathless voice has your chest feeling light, “You’re a terror, you know that?”

“Don't gimme that, incorrupt response, you woulda done the same thing, given half the chance.” 

“I would not,” you retort, crossing your arms and pouting your lip. 

He gives you a sly look, with a smile to accompany, “really now?”

“Well, I mean,” you find yourself cornered between, owning up, and continuing to make Arthur be the bad guy. “Yeah I would,” you admit.

He chuckles, “That’s what I thought.”

“But I never get to because you’re always awake before I am!” You retort. 

He laughs again, looking down with a broad smile before he’s looking to your eyes, “Is that your excuse?” he asks, you nod in response, and he continues, “Sleeping like a dog is your excuse?” he clarifies. 

And you’re squinting your eyes at him, “Its cats,” you whisper before raising your voice, “It’s cats that sleep all day, not dogs!”

He shakes his head, a laughing smile on his face, “Just like cougars and panthers are separate things?”

You grumble at him and reach for a swat to his arm, and as your spine curves and twists, your body sugar coats nothing as you're hit with a wave of pain. You stutter in your attempt, slumping over in defeat as all your fight is snatched from you. 

Arthur twitched slightly his arms reaching forward as if anticipating you were going to fall, “Well,” he begins, “that's gotta be the saddest thing I’ve seen in a while.” You don't have the fire to snap back at him with something witty, you only grit your teeth and shake your head with a knowing shame. 

All at once reality was coming back to you again, the events of yesterday and the days before had your heart aching, to which you gripped at your chest as if it would get it to stop pounding in such a painful way. You felt oddly alone, no doubt tired of keeping up with the stress that plagued you, feeling as if you had to handle it all on your own because it was your responsibility. 

“Here,” Arthur rises to sit on the edge of the bed instead as he’s encouraging you to lay down again, “Just get yourself back to sleep alright?” You don't bother giving him a response, you neither could nor wanted to, you had so much to do. 

All you seemed to do now was stare at the ceiling as your mind over thought things, and before Arthur could pull his hand away from your reach, you were quick to snatch.

The man stopped abruptly, looking your face over for an answer to his question.

“Arthur?” you weren't sure what you were asking, but your hand only squeezed tighter as you struggled to fit words onto your tongue. 

You must have been lost for a decent moment, as the gunslinger is gently unwinding your death grip and joining you in the bed. You watch him a moment, still unsure of what to share. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He assures as he’s tucking you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You mindlessly let your head rest against his bicep as the two of you laid on your sides. 

“Arthur, I’ve been thinkin’ about things,” you feel his arms flex a moment, tense before he’s stroking along the ridge of your spine, “Since the cell I mean, all the things I wouldn't have had the chance to do, ya know?”

“I get that,” 

“You do? I mean of course you do, I just, You always have yourself so kept together.”

He scoffs at this, “You get to see the best bits I’m afraid.”

“By ‘best bits’ you mean coming back to camp lookin’ like shreds and snoring away your mutilation?” You ask, to which he snorts. 

“I mean, before those moments, during the mauling. Back at Strawberry, I was - well I was terrified.” he lowly admits, your eyes widen, and you pull back to look him in the eyes. However, the man is snugging you closer, trapping you against his chest like he was afraid to let you go. “Just, let me say this before I let you go, okay?” he says more than asks. 

Relaxing back against him is your response. 

       Arthur steadies himself with a deep breath, “When you opened your mouth on that mountain, talking back to me and fooling me with that poker face of yours. Hell I’d been so used to people just swinging one of two ways, either they spit venom, or they cry and snot all pitiful like, in that situation, that wasn't what caught me off guard though. 

No, you saved my life up there, Grey. And I've been waiting for you ever since to use that fact against me, never did you utter a word about it. Before then, I didn't have thoughts of ‘what if’s’ or ‘shoulda done’s.’ It was always about what was best for the others, what loyalty was to be kept. And when I watched you through the time we took you in, overheard the conversations Hosea would start up with you, I learned a bit more about you. 

Then I started gettin' more and more curious, listenin’ and, watchin’, then I noticed you were doin’ the same, albeit you didn't make it too hard to notice. You’re a shameless observer. You were always so eager to see me home, I never realized it till later, but I was always looking forward to seeing that face of yours all lit up on my behalf. Even wanted to hear what you had to say about some things I never thought to ask anyone else. I could tease you, and you'd dish it right back to me, never set me high nor low on some pedestal in comparison to yourself.

When I woke up that morning with you drooling away on my cot, I was confused, you were worried about my wellbeing to the point you thought sittin' there waitin' for me to get done snoozing would make it all better. I wasn't sure what to do with that. Dutch, well it stopped being about what I needed a long time ago for him. 

Then when we went huntin', I couldn't understand why you were so hesitant on the trigger, after all, I’d seen you take more than a few men’s lives, the life of a doe had you so jittery and hesitant. But that all seemed to go away when we saw those O'driscolls at the river. And little bits here and there I started to have my suspicions. 

I then realized your strengths lied in your charms, and I grew fearful that I may have fallen victim to them. I went to take care of those O'driscolls, figured it would sate your anger, and I’d spare having to send you to commit more bloodshed, and when I came back, sharing the news expecting you to be elated, you were defensive. So I pressed you, against my better judgment, which I’m thankful for. Probably never woulda been here with you like this If I didn't. 

That’s when you told me, told me everything, and I could tell it was the truth. No one could conjure a pain that deep in their voice just with some potent eloquence. Didn't know it when I wanted to keep you untouched, prevent you from experiencing more unnecessary violence, to see you so blindly bent on something so stupid as revenge, it eats me up, still does, and knowing you weren't mine to persuade and influence, I resented the feelings that had been foaming up since the beginning.

And then you left. 

Well I ain't too sure what I was thinking during that time you were gone, I didn't have time to process if I was hurt, scared, or, angry, because Camp had me running around in every which way.” 

You hear him swallow.

“Then, in Valentine, well my resentment crumbled, those feelings seemed to just explode and they’ve been manageable, but only just.” Slowly he leans away, lifting your chin to him as his thumb delicately grazes your lip. “I’ve wanted you to be mine and only mine for too long, but I know what happens in our lives. I know It’s a foolish thing to indulge in, especially in a world that doesn't need us no more. No matter how much I tell myself this, knowing only pain and suffering can come of giving in, it's been the hardest thing.

When I was looking down at you with that noose around your neck,” you hear him swallow as his hand trails down around your neck, softly brushing your skin, his voice cracks slightly as he pushes through whatever closes up his throat. “I knew then, that I didn't care about any of that, I’d gladly take the fear of unknown if it meant I could come back home to you, who showered me with such wonderful feelings, and share that burden. I’d do anything to protect you and who you are, but that meant binding your need to satisfy that fire inside you. 

I’ve thought on it, I have, and I told myself I’d promise to wait for you, to help you however I can so you can leave what burdens you now behind. Because I know - once you see this through, there will be nothing holdin' you back. You always expressed such a similar agenda, and I don't want nothin' to stop me from tellin' you this. These are things I figured you need to hear.”

The two of you stared upon each other, examining small details in the others face. Mostly you watched his eyes though, you thought they were the most beautiful thing. 

His hand gently reached up to stow away your hair behind your ear, and you couldn't help but shut your eyes at such a pleasant act. 

The movement stopped when you did, and when you opened your eyes, Arthur's nose was brushing along yours. Eyes somewhat wide as he silently asked you of what you didn't really need to think on. 

Your hands tangled in his shirt as you cling to his chest, his eyes softened at this, the arm he had wrapped around you rubbed circles at the small of your back. 

Then you thought on it some more, it intimidated you to no end, but your mind was struggling to come up with reasons that you shouldn't at that moment, you wanted to terribly. And after the day before, the realization you might never get another chance solidified your choice. 

Ever so carefully you ghosted your lips over his, the slightest touch as they caressed his. His hand stopped tweaking your back, and when you hesitantly opened your eyes again, you weren't sure what to make of his expression. 

His brows arched with the slightest surprise, yet his eyes never widened with shock and refuse like you feared for in some reason. 

You were prepared to stumble back on your action, lips trembling as you prepared a made-up speech about your wrongdoings, shameful past and ways of thinking. 

You stuttered on your words, and that grin on his face that greeted you had your face burning incredibly hotter. 

Then something low, like you've never heard before spilled from Arthur's throat, “what is it, Grey?” 

You wanted to squeeze yourself into the small non-existent space of the log walls, shaking your head as if it would make everything go away and restart. 

You could only stutter, tongue tripping over itself.

Arthur gently captures your chin and has you looking to him when he leans in closer. You could only stare down at the space between you two where you were pressed together.

“Use your words,” he instructs, that grin of his could be heard.

It was a struggle to even look him in the eye when you tried fretfully to conjure anything coherent. How was he managing to look so smug after confessing all of that?

“I - well I, I've always wanted to.” You start, “To tell you I mean!” You correct, it wasn't wrong, but certainly, you weren't about to admit that to the man. “I never got to tell you how incredible you are as a man.” His eyes widen slightly, hearing you out as his arm moves to your back to hold you tight. “I mean, you've accomplished so much, and you still have a patience I've never seen before. It bothers me to watch you be mistreated, Arthur. You were kind and open-minded towards me when no one else was. You deserve more than anyone could ever give.”

“Grey, don't you go worryin' about that.” 

“Don't worry about what? How can I not? Since we talked I've been-” your words are cut short when he's leaning forward, and as if you would break he's taking your lips with his. 

It was something slow and acute, delicate even as his lips softly slide against yours. You wince slightly as your mouth aches at the contact, yet you couldn't stop chasing that feeling in your chest, something excited and needing. You didn't realize he was trying to pull away because you could only keep on after him, chasing his touch. You had wanted to taste these lips for so long.

“Grey,” he breaths between your insistence, he was neither pulling or pushing you away.

You make a quizzing noise in the back of your throat but nothing more to interrupt you. 

“I'm thinkin'-” the more he speaks, the more you're itching to close the space, “this ain't a good idea.” 

Your heart jumps to a halt at his words, body freezing and eyes snapping open to his reddened expression. 

“What do you mean?” Your question has his blush deepening as his eyes snap to anywhere but your body. 

“Er...well, you ain't exactly...clothed.” he drags, looking embarrassed. 

You join him in the expression, feeling stupid and shy, your voice trembles when you speak up, “I don't understand.” The weight of the sheets that were tangled around your body felt heavier suddenly.

He looks down at this, audibly swallowing before his eyes open to yours with a focused gaze. 

“I don't trust myself not to take it further than you'd like.” He admits lowly, eyes remaining steady as they're trained on you.

Your heart begins to piece itself back together rather quickly as it's speeding up and dramatically pounding in your chest.

You ducked your head, “but, well, Arthur I feel the same...” you admit shyly. 

His body language practically slumps forward against you, as if he had been holding his breath. Resting his forehead to yours with some pained twitch dancing on his face. His hips were barely rutting against your leg that had found its way against his at some point. 

The firm pressure you felt if only slightly had your heart jumping in a different way. A dizzying way. 

“Well, with an argument like that how can I say no?” He asks, to which you offer him a playful grin before he's retaking your lips. His arm around your hips was pulling you closer, the tilt of his head had you with nowhere to go having rested your head against his bicep earlier.

And when he only deepens the kiss the aching in your lip seemed like such a distant tinge, pulsing ever so quietly as if fighting for the attention of which you would give none. 

You wished to be closer, pulling yourself by the fabric of his shirt, your leg pressing harder against the rock that formed between his legs. 

You were blessed with the most delicious sound you've ever heard.

Arthur releases a low groan, muffled slightly within the kiss, yet he doesn't let up. So you want to hear it again, grinding your leg higher. 

You feel the man's smile twitch at this, a broken groan cut short by something more warning as his throat spills a growl. 

He's firm when he grabs your curious leg and is sitting up from laying next to you to propping himself up over top of you. The two of you sharing the small bed leaves no room unused. Your heart only speeds up when you see him overtop of you, partially laying between your legs and propping himself up with his arms that had your mouth watering. 

You resist the urge to drag your teeth against his skin but only just as you're reaching up to caress his shoulder and knead the arm that remained planted to your right. 

Looking up at him you found his eyes, a stunning blue you couldn't look away from as he looks you over like you were something to be examined and changed. 

You only wonder what's going on inside his head, your heart pounded in your ears. Unconsciously your lips parted and kissed at the skin of his wrist, your raised hand, however, had other ideas as it traced down and fingers nestled their way past the barrier of the shirt and against his warm chest.

As both of you exchanged a silent and burning gaze, Arthur's expression only fell darker. You wanted in on it. 

Your teeth nipped at the skin of his wrist, teeth dragging and worrying until the delicate patch was irritated which your gunslinger paid no mind to in that moment. Your hips had begun searching for particular and pleasant pressure. 

When Arthur leaned forward to take your lips, he was rough, and that had your grip tightening and twisting to pull him closer. You wanted to pour as much heat into your exchange as he was until the man quite literally stole your breath away. It surprised you mostly, with it taking any kindling that would keep you from being pliant. 

You release a surprised noise that comes out more like a whimper. With that Arthur pulls away and is worrying your cheek before nipping along your neck. 

Your body arches as he tunes your sensitive flesh, your head falls to the side as his persistence draws more noises from you. You can only tug on him, your hips flexing as they work even harder seeking any form of friction as this point. 

His teeth are at your ear, having trailed firm open-mouthed kisses along the delicate space of your neck.  “You're so beautiful when you're writhing like this.” He lowly informs, his voice sends a shudder down your spine that escapes with a trembling breath. “I think I'll make you mine tonight, what do you think of that?” He asks tacitly. 

Your body shivers as you nod, overwhelmed at the thoughts of what that would entail. 

“Mm,” he muses, “tell me, sweetheart, open that pretty mouth of yours.”

You swallow deeply, lips trembling as you force out your words, “please,” he had slowly pulled away to look you in the eyes,  “I want to be yours.” you add, returning his gaze no matter how embarrassed you were at that moment. 

He looks you over, waiting for any sign of hesitation or unease, before long he's relaxing against you again, “mine you'll be then,” he whispers to you. He rests more of himself overtop of you. Feeling his weight press so wonderfully against you had you feeling calm, you felt he would take care of you and your fears. You blush having been called out on your neediness, your fingers had been worrying his shirt, anxiously tugging and pulling just itching to get a better feel.

He's adjusting a moment, resting on his knees as he's sitting up from you. Your legs squeeze at his sides, and he smiles to you, “I'm not going anywhere, honey.”

Casually he shucks off his shirt, sending it to the floor gracefully.

You can't help but stare at his physique, at first you wanted to sear the image of his sculpting into your mind, only then do you see the scars from his misfortune littering his skin like stones to a river. You're reminded of how lucky you are. The man leans down to assure you with a kiss that lingers.

Remembering all the chances life had to take him from this world, all the pain he's experienced physically not to mention mentally, the tears that are coming to your eyes threaten to paint your cheeks. You really were the luckiest.

“Sweetheart,” his softly speaks, “why are you crying?” And the question is enough to induce more tears. “I know I ain't the prettiest of sights but if you squint a little -”

You interrupt him with a smack to his chest, a giggle bubbling up in your throat. To which he smiles against the flesh of your throat as he's kissing marks across your canvas skin. 

“You make me the luckiest person alive, Arthur.” You gasp as your hands are sliding across the back of his neck, one tangles itself into his hair. 

Which only spurs him to work harder. Sucking bruises against your skin painfully so, that has your body arching up to him again, stealing the air that appeared thin.

His hands are firm as they hold you against him, your legs were already digging into his sides in some silent plea to have more of him. 

With his lips dripping down your neck and to your collarbone, he scatters a couple of carefully placed reminders into your skin there too before he's lifting himself up the slightest bit and his eyes roam over you. The pleased rumble that leaves his chest leaves you biting your lip and squirming, his hands begin to untangle you from your wrap of sheets. He seems almost frustrated by the cloth as he's tugging it away and leaving you on full display. 

You resist the burning urge to shield yourself with your hands, he'd seen you naked before yes, but now it felt so much more intense as his eyes bore into every vulnerable square inch like he was about to take everything you had. You couldn't fight the stinging blush on your face.

He takes one hand and presses it to your stomach before he's hiking up the middle of your chest and across your throat before he's gently brushing his thumb against your lips. 

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, and when his thumb lingers, you open your mouth to take it inside. 

Softly your tongue greets him, swirling against it as his thumb presses to the muscle. You watched as his expression fell darker before he's retracting it to delve two fingers into your mouth instead. 

He eyes you harshly, watching as you accept and close your lips around them before you're bathing them with your tongue. 

When he's curiously pressing your tongue down to the bottom of your mouth and moving his fingers deeper towards the back of your throat, you can't help the whine that escapes from you as you're opening wider for him. Your hands cling to his arm as you're on the verge of panting whoreishly. His fingers part a moment to caress your tongue, and you give to the man what he seeks. 

When he's withdrawing his hand, his eyes flicker down between your legs. The side that was softly caressing your knee was encouraging you to part your legs more. It took all the mental power you had to push past your shy behavior and give in. 

And like a shock of electricity, his touch is smooth against your vulnerable nerves. Your first response is to snap your legs shut when the low chuckle tickles your ears you're looking for his expression. 

He leans forward with those lustful eyes and a toothy grin on his face, kissing along your cheek to your neck. You try to relax a bit more, opening yourself to him and a pleased hum leaves his throat as he's sitting up again.

“This for me?”

You want to hide from the question, your hands reach up over your face, and his body stops. 

“You know, Grey, there can be only one luckiest person alive,” he starts, softly taking your wrists to reveal your face, “and I don't think you'll understand when I tell you,” his hand is bringing your hands above your head into the mattress. “So let me show you.”

Well when you thought about it like that, your mind knew you wanted to pay attention. That was any time Arthur wanted to share something with you. It was honoring. 

His head was ducking down to your chest, softly planting kisses against your collarbone, before his hand grazed that silky subject, causing you to jut and arch from your sensitivity. His teeth bestow a sharp pinch to your skin before your mind can get too focused on any one sensation. 

At first, he’s only petting you, teasing as his wet fingers lathe your flesh, his tongue swirling against a nipple of yours as his teeth dance around tugging against your bud. 

You can only squirm and rest your head back. When you do manage a breath and lift your head, the sight of him unraveling you further does nothing to help your cause. As you're about to throw your head back again, his eyes capture yours, and as his teeth worry your angry red skin, his teasing fingers delve into you. 

The pressure in your chest builds and releases a whine from your throat, your hips flexing at the intrusion as you struggle to relax. Even as you open your eyes once more, Arthur's gaze remained watching your every move with that dark undertone. You were partially thankful for the grip around your wrists that held you down. You weren't sure what your hands were trying to do at that moment.

Feeling his kiss turn sweet as he trailed down and over your stomach, paying special attention to the scarring that had been left there over the years as if he was trying to distract your mind from any discomfort you could be feeling as he was drawing noises which were unknown to you from your throat. 

His fingers twisted deeper, caressing your walls and the sudden tinge that twisted tighter and tighter sunk it's unruly teeth into your core and had you shriveling underneath him. Some moan that catches you by surprise slips from your throat.

“Just like that, let me hear you,” he coos, and his effort only deepens, working you open with attentive hands. 

The noises you make come almost naturally now with your moans echoing from the tower above. At some point in your writhing, your ankle throbs mad at you, but the endorphins rushing around have you minding the pain only briefly before you're being swept away by Arthur’s attention.

Your hands were twisting in his hold, nails digging into whatever they could as you chased some feeling you couldn't put a label on, even as your core tightened beyond anything you’ve thought possible, something was missing. And soon your moaning morphed into frustrated sobs. 

Arthur releases your hands, retaking your lips, “What do you need, Sweetheart? Tell me,”

You're not sure you have anything to say at that moment, you know you responded, you just weren't sure if it actually escaped from your throat. But one thing was for sure, your hands were digging into his skin, pulling him closer to which he gladly gave. 

With hunger you forced his mouth to yours, chasing his taste with something that had too much teeth. Boldly, you’re darting your tongue out to get more of him, sure enough, he’s dominating that exchange as well, his tongue directed yours, and you find yourself overwhelmed as the audible noises that filled into the scarce space between you both had you burning impossibly hotter. 

Your hands knew what you wanted and made progress on fitting their way down his body and to the front of his trousers where your fingers tugged and fiddled along seams. The space to do that was crowded and Arthur is retracting his fixed touch from between your legs. A low laugh leaves him, but you're too overcome with need to mind.

“Slow down,” he interjects, smiling down at the commotion your hands are causing. “I ain't going anywhere.” he adds, and instead of shooing your hands away he’s working with them, letting you help.

When you see a glimpse of what you've been needing he’s pulling himself away to remove the clothing that had only made you feel more naked. Without the obstruction there to hide his entire picture, you can't help but look over him, staring hard and your mouth begins to water. 

Arthur is climbing back overtop of you again, voice low and a smile evident, “See? Shameless.” 

Your eyes snap to his with a blush that could have been visible if it weren't for your already red cheeks, “Just, take me already,” you breathe.

“So impatient,” he playfully chides, taking your lips again for a bruising kiss.

You grumble. You're more frustrated than expected having been kept from what you've been needing for too long and counting, “Arthur..”

“Can you blame me? I’ve got quite the enchanting specimen here that’s just melting under my touch,” he responds, “so beautiful, and delicious,-” 

Your hands move to caress and grip his warm cock, and that shuts him up real quick, as he's releasing a shuddering breath. Your lip twitches at the minuscule victory, his half-lidded eyes find yours and he’s watching your expression as you squeeze and feel along his girth. 

It was the softest thing, something velvet and hot, yet, where you thought you could squeeze it, you’re reminded of how hard it actually was. Firmly you rolled your fingers across the angry red tip, feeling it twitching with its own need. All the while you’re drawing soft noises from your gunslinger's throat, turning that haze over your eyes more dizzying and intoxicated. 

When he’s soon rocking into your hand, you feel along the new sensation that sends your imagination running wild. You were on the edge of panting right alongside him if not for the whine that escapes you.

The growl directed towards you has you resting back and letting him take his control back. His hands firmly grip your legs and tug you closer.

The weight of his cock standing at attention against the inside of your thigh sent you swallowing the saliva in your throat that felt so thick at that moment, and you took in a silent breath. Your heart pounding in your ears would have driven you nuts if not for the fact you were so enthralled with what Arthur was doing to you. 

His eyes flickered from your face and down to the sight between your legs as he casually strokes along his length. His hand gently hooks under the knee of your injured limb, lining himself up as he softly strokes the head of his cock against your needy entrance. His eyes dart to yours, a silent question being asked to which your only response is a nod, a plea being called as your hips undulate, chasing the friction.

And he takes one glance back before he’s holding your gaze. 

Slowly, almost painfully so, he’s stretching you apart as he’s easing into you. You try and hold his gaze for as long as you can before the stinging and a hint of pleasure mix for an intoxicating tonic that has your head tipping back with a low moan dripping from your lips. 

You'd hear Arthur’s own pleasure escaping from his throat if you weren't so overwhelmed by the feeling of him taking you completely. 

His arms are on either side of you again when his hips are flush to yours. Bottoming out and burying his length inside of you, the tension in his body tries to escape as his hand is gripping tightly into the sheets. Feeling his lips across the stretch of your bared neck, the shivering of his teeth as they graze across your skin, you weren't sure where that shuddering was coming from. 

Warm breath falling across your nude flesh, your hands could only cling to him, a hand traveling the line of his spine and into his hair for a grip you couldn't shake. Lifting your head to see him, just to keep yourself grounded, his expression looks almost pained with his brows furrowing.

His eyes find yours and he’s taking your lips roughly, something sloppy and unfocused. He was holding himself back, a losing battle. 

“Arthur,” you moaned, your words weaving between dancing lips. 

A deep groan spills from his throat, “Again,” he pants, his hips stuttering as he struggles to keep his movements languid, “call my name, let the world know who has you.” His hips begin to rock slowly at first, and you can't help but feel nothing but the igniting sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. All your energy was being sapped, every nerve of your body was numbed besides the muscles tightening under your skin, a tension being mercilessly wound.

And as your mouth falls open, a whine escapes you, when you thought you could adjust to his tempo, his self-control is unraveling at a much faster pace, each moan of his name on your lips rips a strand right out from his carefully stitched demeanor. His pace steadily climbs, driving in and out of you with more fluid motions as you realize he’s losing himself with you. 

Your breathing quickened, racing to keep up with the approaching coil that was to inevitably snap. Arthur's teeth nipped and raked at your skin with an unbridled intent to avow who you belong to, sucking harsh marks across the canvas of your delicate skin. Then the man is taking your hands and trapping them in a grip that might have hurt if you didn't desire such intense pressure. 

Calling out to him, tears sneaking out of the corner of your eyes, you found the concoction of emotional and physical pleasure to be too much, you were gasping for air, and your cries had him kissing up your body and to the delicate skin below your ear.

Your back arched up to him, pressing yourself against him, skin a tacky sensation as sweat formed on each other's skin. You searched for his mouth, panting like you've been under for too long, he returns your need, deepening the messy open-mouthed exchange. 

Suddenly, your jaw drops open, a silent scream as your body turns rigid, the release that squeezes you takes you unaware, and the startled gasp escapes your throat. 

The lips that were latched to your throat pause, Arthur’s jaw clenches, as he’s jerking in his motion with a hiss audible through his teeth before he's forcefully pulled over the edge with you. A loud groan tares through him and he’s stilling inside of you.

Realizing the warmth that is spent into you, the soft hum of content is shared from within your throat, feeling Arthur pulsate inside bestows a delirious state of mind over you. 

A lull filled with just a few strained breaths as the both of you struggle to collect yourselves passes. Arthur is lifting his weight off of you, peppering gentle kisses down your body as he unsheathed himself from your warm embrace. The pleasing sound reverberating from his chest as he’s taking his place alongside you. 

Your body was inert, mostly allowing him to guide you into whatever position he wanted you in as he rested behind you. His hand rested along your hip, softly dragging the pads of his fingers against your stomach as he continued to shower you with kisses. Softly caressing the vulnerable spot of your neck that seemed so sensitive, at that moment. 

With a comfortable silence, and the chemicals bouncing around in your head sleep wasn't far off. Exhaustion had hit you hard for a second time. You would be content to stay like this the rest of your life if it meant you could lay alongside Arthur, never having to speak to one another to get the meanings across. It wasn't your body cooling down that had you feeling so warm, no it was the fact he was there with you, shielding you and encouraging such incredibly tranquil thoughts. 

Maybe he was the luckiest if his argument was anything to prove.

His hand is caressing around to your front to weave his fingers between yours, resting his forehead to the back of your spine, assuring you in smallest strokes that he was there. 

  
  


No, you were definitely the luckiest weren't you?


	16. Nowhere To Call Your Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hat that remained clutched to your chest felt like the weight of a thousand swords, stealing your breath and your muscles cramping to keep it up. The guilt in your heart was something acidic and sapping your energy. A lingering poison in your system.
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

       The night before had been breathtaking for lack of better terms. To wake up in the middle of the night to a warm, sleepy, and soothing hand across your back. Assuring you, comforting you. It gave you dreams, actual dreams that weren't classified as nightmares.

Being stirred awake from your deep sleep on the occasion of Arthur seeking his own form of comfort. The bridge of his nose would nestle so wonderful and soft into the nook of your neck. His lips leaving sloppy and sleepy kisses across your skin that was displayed to him.

The constant reminder of Arthur being near made you placid next to him, offering soft noises in response to his persistent marking. You didn't mind in the slightest, after all, it made you feel like you had indeed belonged somewhere. Not because it was the right thing to do, or the smartest in terms of safety. To be just you and yourself, and Arthur and himself without care of the influence from the outside. 

You wondered if that was what happiness felt like. 

The shifting you felt against you, had you expecting more soft kisses before the two of you were taken by sleep, but, as you begin to realize the kisses had developed into more insistent, playful things your body seemed eager to swell with that desire from the night before. 

His teeth would scrape against your neck before applying more marks into your skin which you felt more than seen. The gentle nipping he laid on you had you breaking out with soft giggles, the ticklish sensation his scruff left against the sensitive parts of your skin had you wondering what he was planning. 

You let out a sound of protest, not at all serious in tone as your smile still remains prominent on your lips. 

His gravelly voice at your ear sends a pleasant shudder through your spine, “Good Morning, Sweetheart.” 

You open your eyelids, still heavy with sleep, you look over the sight he gives you. You let out a breath, more of a longing sigh, “Good Morning to you too, handsome man. What do I owe the pleasure?”

Arthur lets out a low chuckle, softly taking your lips with his for a deep kiss that has you wanting more. Your hands slipping up into his hair as you deepen it which he gladly returns. 

“Mm, let's get you dressed.” He says as the two of you part for air. 

“Something tells me it won't do us no good,” he smiles at your response, resting his forehead to yours. The smile on his lips is enough to convince you. And who would have thought; to put clothes on would have been so much fun? The man failed to disappoint.

After the both of you were decent, he prepares to head up into the lookout of the watchtower, which you tried your damnedest to convince him otherwise. You found it very hard, however, to say no to the very convincing, Arthur Morgan. He would definitely be getting anything he asked for from you in the future.

You weren't even entirely sure what he was doing; you just knew the man was insistent on starting his day. You didn't blame him, you, however, were going to relish in the opportunity to catch some more shut-eye. After all, you still had to rest your ankle.

  
  


Shutting your eyes you find yourself being stirred awake, not as soft and warm as earlier, you felt like you had only closed your eyes for a second when you feel Arthur shaking your leg.

“Grey,” he shook you more insistently “Grey, come on, Sweetheart you have to get up. We have to go, right now.” his tone was something you've never heard before, choked and dangerous while his hands were trying to lift you awake.

“What? What's happened? Are you okay?” You ask, allowing yourself to be pulled up, your anxiety about what wasn't being said was quick to make your heart race.

“They're coming, they're close. We won't be able to outrun them, not up here.” 

His words had your heart jumping into your throat, the two of you standing up into the now much smaller and cramped building. 

The man turns around and finds his gun belt and satchel, rushing as he fits them around you and ushering you along as he answers your questions. You weren't sure what he was doing. These belonged to him, why was he giving his equipment to you?

“Then let's go, I'm sure we can lose them in the woods and then split off a-” 

“No,” he takes your hand and almost drags you out of the building and to his horse, “you're gonna get on this horse and run until I find you again.” You weren't sure which stung more, his words or the sun peeking through the clouds at you.

The breath you violently take in catches in your hold, were you scared? You violently shake your head to him, grabbing onto him as he tries to push you onto his horse. 

“We can hold this position then! There's plenty of rock, and the watchtower is a great vantage point, what's stopping us?”

He silences you with a very intense look, his hand at the base of your jaw a thumb brushing feverly against your skin as he holds you close, resting his head against yours.

“I'm not risking sending you down a cliff in a fit of panic when I can buy you some extra time instead, they're here for Dutch, they won't hesitate to shoot you,” his voice cracks as he adds, “dead.”

You shake your head in protest as if it stood any chance of changing the fact, “Rodin’s a sure-footed horse,-” 

“Both of us won't be able to outrun them on one tired horse, I don't want to risk you getting hurt, not when I finally have you like this, I won't. I won't let you take another life either.” 

“Arthur-” your voice broken as you cling to him, you're cut off when he takes your lips with a bruising force that you feel more in your chest than the distant pain from something with too much teeth. A well of emotions being delivered between the exchange. 

Before you can snap to as he pulls away, he's already lifting you up and sliding you onto the saddle. 

The tears that threaten your skin burn at the walls of your lids, silently your throat aches, with your tongue holding back and struggling to hold onto the words you couldn't seem to express. “What if I do get hurt when I’m going, I need you with me to make sure I -”

Giving your hand a hard squeeze and pressing his lips to your palm, he removed his hat only to fit it right back on top of your skull. 

“You won't because I know you'll want to be safe for me, you’ll want to wait till I find you again, won't you? You’ll be safe for me? Please?.” 

“I don't want to leave you, I can't-” you choke out. Between the hurting of your chest and the intense pain in your throat, all that seems to come out is a broken sob. 

“You'll be just fine, you don't like seeing me upset do ya?” You begin to shake your head words failing you. “You'll do this for me won't you?” you hesitate, looking down at the pleading man past the brim of his hat that sat very heavily over your head. 

He looks to his saddle, quickly removing a rifle and bow, He then finds your eyes, forcing you to look into them. You watch as his orbs move back and forth. The moment seems so much more permanent. You weren't sure what to expect, were you saying goodbye for a few weeks or a few months? A year? 

“I’m here for you, Grey. That ain't ever going to change.” 

Your lip trembles as you do your best to stay strong during this time, a time you wanted to wake up from, something distant and had you in disbelief. Your tension finds you, some spike forcing you to accept it as Arthur gives his horse a good swack. 

Your nerves jumping at the sudden movement under you, you don't look away from him; however, you're still reaching to him, not wanting him to go. He watches you atop the horse as it carries you away. 

“I'll wait for you, Arthur! I'll wait!” you scream back at him, refusing to look away until he's really out of sight. 

Rodin seemed just as unsure as you were, a new rider and no direction the horse was running to run. Weaving through the winding ridges and skipping rocks and roots. 

All of this was far away, you couldn't register anything besides the pain of your closed up throat and tears that never stopped racing down your cheeks. You're not sure when exactly the tears stopped. You felt like you were back in limbo again. Not sure if what happened last night was real or not. Loud cracks ripped through the mountainside, bouncing off the stone walls that honed in on you and your skin was sweating accompanied by nausea with your worry.

Needless to say, it had been a while since you felt this intensity of pain. It had your mind a wreck. 

Suddenly, a profound shock rips through a tree next to you, splinters flying into your path of movement. Your nerves were already too numbed to react violently. You duck your head, close to the horse's neck as it's quickly reaching forward and back. 

Your eye opens in time to look back, you see the faintest of signs as the ridge scarcely reveals the outline of your pursuers on horseback. 

Bounty hunters? Pinkertons? 

Something switched in you, it suddenly didn't matter to you who it was.  You were seeing red, and anything that remotely attempted on eliminating your life in the slightest of ways had you quick to rage. You had to stay safe, for him. For Arthur.

Without your gear, you couldn't unload on them as you wanted, you weren't sure what Arthur's satchel had. But that anger that seated itself in you seemed to be smart this time, careful as if planning out the most painful of endings for whoever these people were. 

You glared. The brim of Arthur’s hat shielded your eyes from the sun, providing you a focus you wish you'd known before. You let them have their shots. You gave them no flinch as they continued their assault. You took hold of the reigns, the contact from the bit seemed appreciative of its new direction.

You began riding Arthur’s horse hard, and the horse, for the most part, had no problem with giving to your hails it seemed accustomed to the firm handling. Their horses lacked in speed, but that only told you that they would be riding you out on endurance. 

The wind in your ears drowned out the sound off their voices, shouting threats and other nasty things. But the thunder that growled within the trees matched how you felt. The desire to raise hell from the indignation that rung louder and louder with the equally angry sky above.

Quick to pull, you ran Rodin deeper into the trees, the terrain only got steeper, a clearing catches your eye, darkened and burned as trees retreated from the impact. As if trying to run, but with roots so firmly seated there was nowhere to go but their suffering.

A rock had fallen from the heavens, and the rocky soil around it gave to its angry fit, burning an angry hole into the earth. Rodin was confident, where you were otherwise not, as he navigated down the rugged slope. He clears more than a couple of rocks in his path, bounding effortlessly through the clearing, however, you know you've been in the open too long, the hairs on your neck are raising. As you direct Rodin to climb out of the crater, you're stealing a glance back. The malicious glint of scopes reflecting the angry sun ignited more rage inside you. 

You snarled, chasing after Rodin with your voice with a temper you didn't much need. He responds well to it, of course he does, he’s Arthur’s horse. 

Coming up over the slope you're met with an even steeper descent. Rodin is majority of the time sliding his way down with his haunches firmly digging into the brittle soil. The sound of a train screaming its way through the woods on its steel tracks brought a familiar thought to your mind. You were racing time again, and you start demanding more from Rodin, pushing him harder, there was no way you were getting stuck on the same side of the tracks as these monsters.

You cut to the other side with the train blaring its horn in the ear of your left. You think you’ve got them, you feel like you might be able to relax, at least for a little while longer. 

Racing past the Brandywine Drop Station that has definitely seen its fair share of better days, your heart sinks at the crossroad. Another group searching hungrily. Lapping up any hint of outlaw existence. 

Your grip tight on Rodin’s reigns, you're lurching his head back, pulling a turn that would sheer ships in half, your eyes remained trained on their attention, holding your breath as you pushed Rodin out of the way to get out of sight. 

Your heart jumps, not in a pleasant way either, you're digging it out of your stomach when you recognize they’ve spotted you. And boy were they relentless. 

Rodin darts into the trees again, you’re hunched over, sitting up out of the saddle mostly and getting off of his back. The splinters of the trees kept your head down, for the most part, the rim of Arthur's hat shielding any stray shards. You can't see much beyond the cluster of trees that were surrounding you. You trusted Rodin to keep both of you moving, weaving through the trees, you didn't want to confuse him with your own hesitation and end up in the mud. 

With your ankle the way it was, you didn't want to entertain the idea of running from them on foot. You just needed to keep steady and hold out. 

Clearing logs and roots, Rodin jerks his head up suddenly, a whinny leaving him. You look him over from where you rode, trying to see if he’s been injured anywhere. And when he veers sharply away to the right, you’re looking around. The black bear that was just as frantic as you were to skirt away had Rodin uneasy. You didn't have time for this, you pushed Rodin into the direction he was seeking, the guidance that sent you both deeper into the woods. 

You were beginning to lose track of where you were. You couldn't focus long enough to formulate an estimate when you were constantly interrupted. Bullets whizzing by and some form of luck you never knew you had blanketed around you. You didn't have time to appreciate this new fact when it's torn from you, the group you ditched at the tracks, had followed the gunfire. 

The blood rushing in your ears was doing an excellent job of drowning out the rounds fired at you, trees being shredded had your eardrums shrieking, and your heart was pounding unbearably hard. Just as you wondered briefly about how thick this forest was, daylight shown down on you between the break of the canopy.

And finally, you can see beyond the few feet in front of you. Perhaps at this moment, you would have been better off.

The gushing of water, had your mind reeling back to that day in the ridge. Water in its unyielding form, aggressively stealing anything that was to take to its path. At least, that's what it reminded of you, you couldn't find a hint of water from where you were. 

The slate rocks that pathed your way forward gave you nothing but a sheer drop, you hesitated, Rodin was still racing ahead, you couldn't stop. 

Maybe you could get around it? 

Eyes scanning viciously along the ridge. The train tracks! Naturally your body spurred you in that direction, Rodin fed off of it and followed. 

The bullet that whizzes past your ear to your left has you yelping, startled mostly as your eyes are frantically chasing the source. They were closing you in on this barren cliff. And your eyes were scanning for a new sort of detail. 

The daunting realization that you were trapped, looped in your head. Stuck between a hard place and cliff that dropped only god knows how far, only clouds gave you a firm idea. 

And in a split, desperate decision, you turned Rodin back to the ridge. You picked the rock with the lengthiest of overhang. Your nerves ran cold, tight, and shivering with apprehension.

At that moment all you kept thinking about was how you couldn't let your fear show. You couldn't let Rodin get nervous either. Vision blurry as it bounced across of what lay on the other side of the canyon.

And you chased after him again, giving him everything you had, shouting, spurring, yanking, anything to push him to his max extent. 

Rodin had to make this jump, you had to get across now, or never. 

He wavers on the approach, throwing his head and already preparing to drop back, and you only get after him more. He needed everything he had to cross this distance, and you wrung every ounce of it out of him. 

Holding your breath, the outside influences of the world around you ceased to exist. No sounds, no thoughts. Just you, and this daring feat, perilous and stupid. Hope against hope that it was possible.

The weightless feeling of Rodin’s hooves leaving the stones below only added to your displacement, your eyes remained opened, yet registered nothing. You didn't want to shut them out of fear, perhaps they stayed open for your mind, too busy trying to come to terms with the possibility of immediate death. 

       Eyes widening as you realize Rodin wasn't going to make it, the takeoff was too weak, he had lost too much height.   


And like a gut punch, you're jarred from your trance. The sharp yelp you release unknowingly joins you as you’re thrown harshly into the ground on the other side, just over Rodin’s head.

The serrated whinny that escapes Rodin is all you hear as you’re collecting yourself from the ground, struggling to stop the momentum of your body being slung wildly across the mud. 

You lift your head and you see Arthur’s horse struggling to complete the jump, hoof scraping at the ledge, pleading and trying to keep away from the watery death below. 

Quickly you’re reaching out to him, scrambling to grab his grey coat, a reign, something! 

But, you’re too late, no matter how many times you chanted in your head, telling the world, cursing, no, no! 

Rodin was out of your reach. 

You had no time to thoroughly process what you've done when the hunters keep up their pressure. Hunting you down like some boar, shots punching into the mud next to you, you're ducking your head. 

Hunching in on yourself, you're lifting your knees to scutter to cover. In your path laid Arthur’s hat, waiting for you, almost screaming at you to not be forgotten. Snatching it up to your chest, you make it a couple feet into the next wood line before your ankle snaps at you, biting agitatedly into your bone. How was it possible that it hurt more than the day before? 

You groan out through gritted teeth, cursing as your calm and collected edge from before has scampered off somewhere, no doubt lost to the waterfall death you managed to evade. 

Taking cover behind a tall pine, you spend a moment to catch your breath, looking back at the hunters that were either smarter than you or too skittish. You could only register that they weren't making the jump, not for measly you. They shouted amongst themselves before darting off towards the train tracks you saw earlier. 

They were likely going to cross, you weren't sure how far away that crossing was, but it had you throwing your head back against the tree, shaking your head as if it would get them to stop. As if it would nullify what you just did.

You spend a short moment with this, your anxiety trying to dig you out of such an unhelpful downward spiral. 

With your breath coming out shaken and ragged, your tears begin to fall without your consent of consciousness. Clutching painfully tight to Arthur's hat, you allow yourself to indulge the relentless creature that clawed at your throat.

Your internal thoughts were shouting at you, arguing and raising hell, and with an aching frustration, you hiss at them as you throw yourself up on your feet. You needed to move, it didn't matter what they were saying, you needed to keep moving. So you stood.

Dragging yourself through trees unknown to you, you eventually came to the main road. It was both a welcomed and terrifying sight. You knew that your hunters assumed you'd stick to the main roads. Eventually, it was the easiest way to track and hunt you down.

Without a horse, you had no choice but to cut through the woods. They'd run you over before you could get a head start. If you stayed with the accessible path, it would be easier on your ankle, and you'd have a better idea of where you were. You didn't want to chance it. Looking to the sky, hoping to gauge the cardinal of where you were and where you were headed.  

It was going to be a long next few days. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Keeping to yourself through the density of the unfamiliar woods around you, you had to stop on multiple occasions. Wincing and cradling your abused ankle. Your body demanded rest but your mind, well, your mind wasn't paying attention to anything but itself.

Twisting in on itself, abusing you in it's own way that made the physical pain seem like something less.

You were beaten in more ways than one. And all you could think about doing was move forward. Go through the motions as you carried this pessimistic vision atop your tired shoulders. 

The hat that remained clutched to your chest felt like the weight of a thousand swords, stealing your breath and your muscles cramping to keep it up. The guilt in your heart was something acidic and sapping your energy. A lingering poison in your system. 

Darkness was encroaching on you. Something you couldn't outrun, and it knew it. Taking it's time, watching, waiting. Like a worm for a bird, you were left to its will. And to make your situation worse, the mountain showers were back, wind and all. With your head down you pushed forward, mostly sheltering Arthur's crown from the sopping conditions. 

One defiant look to your odds was all it took however. 

Luck had blessed you once again for some unknown reason. 

Some red home, nestled against the base of a cliff was calling to you. And in the dark, you couldn't gauge too much about what it was doing there besides waiting. 

 

You wasted no time busting into the shelter. With no lights lit, you assumed it to be empty. 

When shutting the door behind you, you catch your breath, sliding down into a fetal position. You sat like this for a while, unmoving as you stared at the far side of the room. And finally, like a damn being broken, your composure is tossed aside.

Your hands come to your face, cheeks cold, and hair wet, your fingers dig maniacally into your scalp. Silent tears race off of your cheeks, and the loud pitter patter of your tears against the material of Arthur's worn hat rivaled even the storm outside. 

Shoulders slumping forward you let everything out, your eyes snapping shut, unable to withstand the agony dancing in your chest, sobbing something fierce and unhinged.

Opening your eyes, you see the rope that was wrapped around Arthur's piece, as well as something new, something unwithered that wasn't there before. 

Blinking away the tears that morphed your view, you lift the detail closer for a better look. 

The rope that was usually wrapped around his hat was there, soaked and stained, yet, there was this new, somehow familiar thread. 

You picked at it for a moment, examining the details, and then it hit you. 

The noose that was caressing your neck which seemed like a distant lifetime ago was tightened around the base of the hat under the one you were so used to seeing there. 

He kept it. Why would he do such a thing?

Oh, God. You missed him, terrifyingly so.

And like a faucet something in you poured out, escaping your throat in broken rasps for air. Your mind only chanted like some demon, all the things you've lost and will lose. A violent shiver takes you, biting and rattling your bones. The sharp pain that ignites in your ankle has you snapping out of your trance. Only enough to realize how much you loathed the situation. With no one to comfort you, your pain was swept away into anger once again. 

Rather tense and frustrated you shot up from the ground, pushing off the wall like it had just insulted you. You stumbled mostly, across the small space of the house, finding the drawers and ripping them open. You were ready to tear this place apart, except, you had no light. And that only made you more indignant. 

So, with resentful hands, you fumble for the lantern thankfully whoever lived here before left the light not far from it. And the annoyingly tedious task made your quivering hands a challenge. It forced you to realize you weren't in the right mind to do much of anything. 

And before you could throw you and your effort to the floor, the light comes to life. Your small victory goes unnoticed. You're left to no celebration in the quiet space, sheltering you from the elements that raged on outside. The quiet only added to your lonesome.

The subtle chill that seated itself under your skin spurred you to look around for warmth, a blanket on the single bed in the corner would have to do for the time being. The concept of laying down on the bed repulsed you. You would not be laying down anymore, not when there is so much to still do. 

You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, immediately your saturated clothes whisked into the dry cloth. You paid it little mind, you took more comfort in the object being wrapped around you than the warmth it brought. 

Taking up the lantern in your free hand, you continued your ransacking, searching for clothes mostly, you needed to get out of these sopping rags. You were quick to change out of them, silently thanking those who came before you for leaving their clean clothes as well. You hesitated when it came time for you to remove Arthurs satchel and gunbelt. Your heart was heavy as you gently set them aside. 

Getting yourself into something dry and slightly baggy, you sat down on the bed as you took up the satchel and looked through it. And, surprisingly, as magical Arthur seemed to be, there wasn't much in there. At least, there wasn't as much as you thought there would be. A bittersweet reminder of the time when you pleaded with him to take a few extra rations with him when he would leave camp. How like him to stay in his stubborn ways.

Your mind flashed through all the instances you'd seen him return so beaten and abused. How long ago was that?

Your worry struck at you like a snake, you told Arthur you’d wait for him. But wait for him where? What if he never made it out of that loft? No. Of course he would have, you had to have faith in his fate, for him. A whirlpool of emotions churned your stomach, and the concept of throwing up was not far behind. 

When was the last time you ate anyways? 

With a shuddering breath, you rise to your feet, and hobble over the kitchen, rummaging for anything, mostly to get your mind somewhere else. 

Finding a can of fruit, you decide to crack it open and get to work on it while you continued to search. It was just your footsteps and the rain pelting the windows that rang so loud in the quiet space. Was it always this quiet in your life? How unsettling. 

Lifting the lantern to the wardrobe, you set it down and take up the can of peaches. It would have to do for now. You didn't have the time or the stomach to search for anything more, but you knew your body would thank you later for it. On the scarce moment your gaze lifted from the can, your eyes flickered across the wall, a double take has you realizing it was a map. 

With wide eyes you scan it, almost dropping your peaches in a lurching motion to get a better look. 

For a while you’re lost, puzzled with eyes squinting and brows furrowed, it was a struggle to find where you were before hell broke loose, for the second time in such short hours. Your mind was hazy as it tried to recall the events that led up to when Arthur found you the other day. Trying to retrace your panic riddled steps as you fled from Strawberry was head pounding. 

All the way from Big Valley to Grizzlies East, Rodin and Arthur carried you through. Your heart pangs at Rodin’s memory. You weren't sure how you were going to admit your incompetence to Arthur. You knew how Arthur was about his Horses. You felt like Rodin deserved better, he didn't deserve your reckless behavior. Such a faultless and robust horse. What a waste. 

With a heavy sigh, you search for the waterfall. The train tracks you wanted to cross hours earlier clued you in. However, that's as far as you could get. 

You were definitely in Roanoke Ridge, but, you weren't sure if you were North of Annesburg or south. In theory, if you kept east, you should find the Lannahechee river. That would hopefully clue you in on where you were, after all, your key out of here was going to be getting to that livery near Van Horn. 

You've never been this far North before, it upset you that you weren't proficient in your geography in this region. You brought your mind back, fingers tracing across the abused paper as you conjured your plan. There was no assuming. You would reach that stable before you could continue with your project. 

Jumping to it, you were quick to scarf down the rest of what remained in the can. Hobbling over to secure Arthur’s gunbelt and satchel around your waist you take with you a few extra items, lantern and coat included.

You were just about to grasp the handle to the front door when you pause a moment. Hearing the storm outside, taunting you, some effort to intimidate you into playing it safe. 

Carefully you repeat what you were about to set out to accomplish. Replaying everything that it would include. 

Your hand that refused to relinquish its grasp on Arthur’s crown. Lifting it in front of your face to secure it atop your head. 

You dug your fingers into the handle and pushed through to the storm and all. 


	17. Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chill that would blanket over you coming up the valley from the coast would snap you out of any thoughts that threatened to consume you throughout the night. It would remind you of what you were doing there, standing on that roof all by yourself.
> 
>  
> 
> ~+~ ~+~ ~+~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read an article the other day about the concept of Writers Block, it made sense on the claims that Writers Block wasn't a real thing, that instead, it was just the mind refusing to complete the task given.   
>  But, the man who wrote the article, his way around it, was to have planned the story first. Keep your ideas tracked and organized, so all you needed to do was follow through tasks ahead.   
>  Which makes sense, I can see a bit of that, especially in my own practices, having everything written down keeps me on track. But I also could argue that, even if Writers Block doesn't exist, the fact we give it a face is enough to say we do need 'Writers Block' in our lives. Without it, we might run ourselves into the dirt and get burnt out.   
>  I suppose it is a Necessary Evil. Encouraging us to take a step back and realize we need a break and to remind ourselves of why we are writing.

       Without a saddle or reins you were sure to be feeling it later; however, your mind only chanted to you, telling you to hurry, hurry, run faster! 

You weren't sure what time it was when you reached the livery by the east river, you were too distraught by the possibility of how long of a walk it was, fearing how much time had been wasted. 

So you had crept through the stables, not a human in sight, nor horse it seemed, all of them were out at pasture, and as you entered the paddock, you took to the first horse within reach. Some Silver Bay Kentucky Saddler had the misfortune of being near. 

Casually you approached, and as if the most natural thing you took to its bareback, and made off on your journey back home. 

And you pushed that poor horse, giving it only the slimmest of chances to catch its breath. You raced past so many places of memory, finally being in familiar territory again, that shack where you came across Fiona and her Daughter Mellonie, then Emerald Ranch and that long stretch of desert that only reminded you of when you pleaded with Arthur before you watched him leave to Colms hands. 

Your blood boiled impossibly hotter at your situation. You felt so powerless, so lost. What was there left for you to do? What could you do in this excruciating moment as you ran back home to what was comfortable? 

The aching in your spine and legs felt so insignificant, especially when you felt like you needed that pain to feel rigorously punished for anything and everything that was a direct result of your actions. 

However, the stench of burning flesh wafts into your nostril as you’re whizzing to the homestead, the roads you traveled seemed too long, were they always this long? 

You had the sense in mind to have faith in your new family; you knew they were strong; they were quick; they had each other's backs. They would have quickly taken on anything and everything with grace and without fault. 

So when you finally arrived at the ruins of the sanctuary, the terrifying realization that they could have been bested seemed too much of a stretch. 

Both the barn and the main house is burned to rubble, still oozing the white powders of smoke as it sizzles out the last of its scorched existence. The tents were faring no better, cast to the ground by an angry force. And as you traveled deeper under the surface, what you saw next had your stomach flipping. 

Denial consumed you, bargaining, and the sight alone was enough to make you want to gag, even without the stench that was mingling with the smell of campfire for a disturbing twist you were sure you were never going to get out of your head. 

Corpses, piled on top of one another like animals with the plague, you couldn't make out a single face, a single head of hair. This wasn't them. It couldn't have been.

Your eyes are eagerly seeking out evidence to tell you otherwise. From counting the charred remains to any scrap of paper. Your mind was already telling you that you needed to meet at the lake house, just like everyone agreed to. Everyone knew where to go in case something so vile should arise. But you desperately wanted to know who these bodies belonged to. 

You even go as far as to dismounting and stumbling over to the pile, without thinking you're grabbing for an arm, maybe those on the surface protected those buried underneath?

Your curiosity is plundered when the arm you grab has it's flesh sliding clean off of the bone — some grungy mess stringing off of the skin of your hands like some algae from a pond. 

And as a final wake up call, your stomach warns you to get away. 

Lurching into the ground, you heave what little your stomach had to work on, pears a definite mush as clear fluid races out of your face. 

The taste of bile and the scent of death and fire left no room for recovery. 

You shut your eyes with a desperate attempt to get out of your head. 

This would have to wait.

Pulling yourself up from the ground, wiping your chin with your arm, and your nose with your wrist you waver as you stench yourself over your horse. 

Suddenly, how your body was feeling hits you all at once. You needed to rest. You did your body, your mind, your soul even. 

The sweat frothing off the skin of your new companion made your touch tacky, or was it the residue of your curiosity?

Wincing at the realization, you're quick to mount up, wiping your hands on the pants you borrowed days ago. With your legs jutting the tired horse forward, with only mild resistance the pair of you are headed back southeast towards the river. 

Your mind honed in on where exactly, and the relapse brought pleasant thoughts, thoughts of Arthur. 

How long ago was it when he was herding you back to Dutches gang? Leading you and indulging in his own curiosity. You wondered if you could visit them. You were no longer scared of Micha and Dutch, not when you felt the way you did, too afraid to fear death itself.

Everything you've ever cared for was gone. Some distant destination out of reach. And no amount of admitting your faults was going to bring them back. 

  
  


That is what had you searching the river for so long. It wasn't the kiss of water that caressed the never-ending expanse of sand, or the sun beating down on top of you for a sticky mixture of sweat and chapped skin. 

Stuck in a loop in your head where you briefly ponder what it would be like to hear nothing. Only driven more insane by your thoughts of how you'll always be hearing things, the world around you cared little for how you felt about it, and it would not stop on your behalf. 

You could be searching for the rest of your life. 

  
  
  


Thankfully, fate was gentle on you. You weren't searching for much longer.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Grey!” A voice hollers out, your attention is drawn to the metal roof of the abandoned mill, it's purpose had dried up a long time ago. 

Fly was waving you down from where he stood on watch. And as you approached closer, your horse is thankful as you removed yourself from atop it's bareback, in turn, Fly was quick to dismiss himself from the roof. 

He wasted no time closing the distance. You were exhausted, but the relief that was washing over you made everything seem so much more bearable. 

“You're a sight for sore eyes,” your voice cracks, betraying you as all you could feel in the moment was elation. Your understatement made even you want to correct yourself. 

Wrapping his arms around you with a solidity you had been needing. “I can say the same to you, you miserable son of a gun.” His voice held no malice, no he was on the verge of tears right along with you. 

Both of you part, exchanging hefty pats on the back. And before Fly turns away from you, he's cupping your cheek and looking you over. 

“It's so good to see you, I wasn't sure what to expect when I dropped you off.” 

You smile to him, a wide one that crinkles the corner of your eyes. “You know me, resilient as all hell.” Little did he know how your throat ached.

       "Aint that a Truth.”

He notices you looking around at the abandoned mill behind him, and his smile fades. His hand drops from your cheek and to your shoulder, squeezing mostly as he slowly rocks you back and forth. 

You wait silently for him to tell you what happened. But he can't even look you in the eye. 

“Fly.” You firmly interject. His eyes flicker to yours before swiftly looking to the path behind you. His shoulders slump forward, and you can't tell if it's guilt, shame, or genuine pain. “Tell me what happened.” You softly command. 

“I'm sorry, Grey. I wish I had better news…” he starts, his voice was raspy and wavering. “Fiona, she, uh,” the swallow he takes makes his next few words come out choked, “Fiona ain't with us no more.”

“What do you mean?”

He's hesitant again, eyes snapping to yours as his lips tremble, and his tongue struggles to make words. 

“Fiona, she-” he separates himself a moment, clearly uncomfortable, “was some city folk. All dressed in their Englishmen suits and lookin' to be straight out of St. Denis. They came ridin' in, middle of the afternoon a few days ago.” His voice drastically drops in pitch, “came in raising hell, something about a fella from Rhodes? They came in demanding you like you had answers.” 

Your breath hitches at this, unsure if it's fear or anger. “How did they find us?” 

“I don't know, I did as you said though, got everyone packed up and ready to go for the trip over to the next location after I got back from Strawberry that same day. But people were so hesitant about leaving, and I couldn't convince them otherwise.”

You felt sick, your callous hands coming up to caress your lips as you battle the denial dancing in your head. 

“I had half a mind to leave them behind… and…” he swallows hard, the look of guilt was evident on his body, “I messed up.” 

Your heart jumped at this, grabbing the man's shoulder and pulling him in again, “No, this ain't your -” 

He shrugs off your touch and gives you a determined look just on the cusp of anger, “don't make excuses for me, I know what I did.”

You part your lips to offer some words that could be comforting, but you struggle to formulate any for this case. You were too mentally exhausted to twist this into something positive.

“They snatched a handful of people, took them right from their tents. I'm not sure how they did it. I don't think anyone was prepared to be attacked here and didn't think to shoot them before they kept going. When they grabbed Fiona,-” he shakes his head, fists clenched to his side around his rifle. “I just got most of those who were willing to follow me out, others were too hell-bent on staying. I told everyone the location before it all started - making sure everyone remembered, and occasionally some show up. But it's not looking good, I don't know what happened. Or rather is.

But Fiona. She ain't coming, she's dead.”

Your eyes widen, and your breath stops completely. Through this whole explanation, you suspected as much. But to hear it said out loud. It was hitting hard, beating your already abused heart.

“Where's Mellonie?” you ask, mostly brushing by to the structure behind him.

“Inside, She's not doing good, Grey, I'm worried.” He adds quietly, following behind you. 

You heard him, but, you really needed to see for yourself. 

Busting into the dark and rickety building, your eyes take a moment to adjust as they're already scanning.

And in the center, you see the young girl, hunched over in a chair with a blanket hanging off her arms. 

Mellonie is slow when she notices you, something distant that doesn't really look at you but rather through.

And somehow at that sight, you could only think about home-cooked meals that your mother made before your family’s improper passing. How vital your parents were to you, how strong the relationship was. It was a memory you thought of as neither good nor bad. Instead, it was a flag, marking something so significant in your life. The very things that turned you into you today. 

And this child just lost hers. You knew it too well.

Mellonie rises to her feet and stumbles over to you when you offer her your arms. 

Tears were ready to assault her dry face once more, she looked so tired. You recognized what she was going through. Too tired to cry, too tired to not.

You took her into your arms kneeling as you squeezed her close. Assuring her that someone was here. 

She wailed, sobbed and shook. Pleading to you to wake her up, to make everything different and go back. Wondering why you weren't there, accusing you of not being there like you promised. Despite the angry questions, she clung to you like death itself, repeating to you what Fly had already told you about but something more terrifying and grim that had your throat closing up. Her perspective felt so much closer to home, it was hitting you hard.

Your heart was heavy with remorse for Fiona, hell you loved her, she was a sister to you, both of you got along so well, and in such a short amount of time it's like you'd known each other since birth. You promised so much, you swore an honest living, you promised to take her and her daughter away from this life. You were too late. Again. 

The violent sobbing in your ear kept your own tears at bay, you needed to be strong for Mellonie, more so now and forever. 

Rising to your feet, when she refuses to let you go, you cling tighter to her, holding her as you tread to the far side of the room. 

“Please don't leave us again.” she softly utters, choked and frantic against the damp collar of your shirt. 

Without overthinking about it, you open your mouth, “I won't, never again. You’re staying with me, you hear me?”

Her cries only grew louder.

And so you hold her in your lap like this, softly rubbing circles into her back as her heart wept from her eyes, throat hoarse from the constant abuse.

You weren't sure when it was that she drifted off, you were too lost in thought to mind the silence. Not wanting to stir her from her much needed slumber, you were content enough to sit there with her, letting her head rest across your chest. 

A few companions who survived the transition came over to share their own reunion with you. Softly expressing how elated they were to see you still lived, but you could see through those tired smiles. They had lost hope, discouraged by such a violent exchange of discontent. 

You could make out the familiar faces, they looked tired and beaten themselves. No doubt dealing with their own losses. 

It was a time for mourning in this decommissioned mill. 

The silence was suffocating, only because you'd been running for so long, you were comfortable with having been able to avoid thinking about the things that feasted on you in your shadow. 

You shut your eyes when you could no longer fend off your self-conscious mindset.

The guilt born from your absence, you were flipping between being angry while blaming someone else and pinning everything on yourself. All these rash decisions you had been making these past few weeks, what was to blame? Of course, it was easier to blame something else than yourself. You could deflect the intensity by saying it was fate that made you do it. 

How could you have accounted for the fact Dutch and Micha were gunning for you before strawberry? Was there something you could have avoided? What would have happened if you had just stayed put with them, would you have been sooner left for dead? Maybe if that was the case, all these lost souls that put their trust in you could have avoided such sorrow. 

What went so wrong as a result of your actions? Where did this chaos emerge from? What butterfly did you squash to turn fate into something so vile? 

The touch on your shoulder startles you from your wicked thoughts, body straightening your spine like a switch. 

Fly was bent over in front of you, angling your eyes to his. He looks you over with a silent question in his eyes. 

You blink, once, twice, and your mouth opens for an apology. You snap it shut at the bitter taste of realization, noting that it would only be insulting to the souls around you for an apology that would fix nothing. 

“When is the last time you slept?” you instead ask quietly.

He thinks to himself a moment, “Don't worry about me, Grey, I -” 

“Ain't what I was askin’,” you interrupt, “I’ll take watch tonight, and then me an' you will head out, go look for a place to settle into in the morning.” 

“In the morning? But who's going to defend this place when we’re gone? Both us can't leave at the same time.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“People here, they’re weak,”

“They are not weak, Fly, they’re disheartened, they need a reason to believe again, a reason to push themselves.”

“I - I didn't mean it like that, I just,- look at them.”

“I know what you meant," you glance around the brittle structure with him silently before continuing, "and I also know you’re capable of rising to the challenge, aren't you? Besides, not tonight, everyone is still very much in lamentation. And you need your rest, I need you at one-hundred percent.”

“Of course.”

The lull that takes over is neither uncomfortable nor comfortable, it merely exists as both of you trail into a deeper train of thought.

“I need to go back.” you say lowly, mostly staring blankly into the far side of the room. Fly lifts his head, at your statement as you continue, “To bury them, I mean.”

“Did they-?”

You silence him with your gaze, hoping to keep his pitch hush and respectful of those mourning around you. Besides, what proof did you have? You were running off of assumptions.

He's slinking down against the wall next to you. His shoulders slouch back, head in his palms. You felt the same, you personally got to know each and every one of those missing faces. Your pessimistic point of view that had been clouding your vision for the past few days had you writing everyone who wasn't here off as dead. The fire left no room for identification.

You realized it was a good time to get up and let Fly get some sleep, but as you prepared to get up, the weight on top of you had your mind rethinking. Looking to the slumbering redhead, you pondered on your promise to her a few hours ago. How severe were the conditions? You looked over to Fly who was still very much in his own share of spiraling thoughts, and you came to realize it would do no good to leave him like that. 

“Fly,” he slowly lifts his gaze to you, “this isn't your fault.” He looks ready to protest, and you’re quick to interrupt him, “No matter what you’re telling yourself right now, it just ain't true. You’re a good man, who did what he thought was best given the situation, and to demand anything more from you would be preposterous.” You weren't sure who you were trying to convince, him or yourself as you’re deftly rolling Mellonie to the side, letting her curl up against the man next to you. 

He takes the girl with only a smidge of hesitation, no doubt unfamiliar with how he was supposed to interact with unconscious children. Yet the bags under his eyes had you believing he wouldn't be worrying about it too long, sleep would find him soon enough.

“You can only do what you can now, and that includes getting some shut-eye, so you’re ready for tomorrow. You hear?”

Silently he can only look up at you wide-eyed, caught off guard by your question as he was busy processing your prior statement. He offers a slight nod, something defeated as he gives himself permission to be overcome with his lingering exhaustion. 

You quietly stride outside the otherwise measly shelter, taking up a rifle to join you as you take a look around the immediate vicinity. You see your borrowed Kentucky saddler hunched over and sleeping, moonlight bouncing off its bronzed coat, and highlighting its muddied white mane. 

Perhaps the promise made to Mellonie was a good thing, it seemed to be the only thing keeping you from mounting up and running off to push yourself and that poor horse even further. All the thoughts that were bouncing inside your head, God they needed to be executed with the clearest of mind. And your thoughts couldn't let go of the fact that you were in particular in the thick of such a haze, pained and knowing you were the furthest from being calm and collected.

What opportunity would come to you to rid you of such burdens? You could fantasize Arthur next to you, whispering in your ear and offering you an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. But what would he say? You already know he wants you to give up this needless act for revenge. 

Even then, if you told him everything you were suspecting about the events that had taken place, would he believe you? Would he shut down your theory claiming that you were paranoid and losing your marbles? Or would he genuinely hear you out? Would he actually help you come up with a plan short from a few stubborn conversations in an attempt to get you to drop it? 

You told him you'd wait, you told him you'd be safe for him. What were you supposed to do when there was an obvious threat looming over you and those you wished to protect? Being safe for him, well, that included knocking out the things that threaten your safety before they could accomplish that right? 

Were you making excuses? Or did that actually make sense? Was that something Arthur would agree on? 

When you've run your questions so savagely through your head, your mind finally yields. Unable to take the constant swarming of in-fighting. Your eyes blink from their blurry stasis, quickly scanning and identifying what they were staring so intensely at before they are searching for any hostile threats as you should have been doing from the start. Just like a curtain, black and draping over some object, the trees and shrubbery weren't much to look at for long.

Afterall, you were so used to seeing Arthur take center stage, parting the inky void of the night to put all your worries at rest. You wanted him to come home so bad. Some sickening hope had you on the tips of your toes, ribs shivering in anticipation for him to come strolling in like he always did. 

The soft whimper that leaves you snaps you from your fixation, you kept getting swept away by these suffocating trances. Stunning you mentally and physically. 

With a rasp, you reel in the tension in your throat, choking down the tears that were aching to be let out. Turning on your heel to climb the ladder to position yourself on the rusted metal slate roof to the feeble shelter. 

As you climbed, you could feel the aching in your ankle again. The long bareback ride to get here must have given it time to settle and repair a bit besides the segments that still needed to be stretched and worked through. 

As you made it to the top, you crawled further up to the center of the roof, you were half hoping the change in elevation would have you more focused on not falling off of it and out of your head. 

It helped only a little. 

The chill that would blanket over you coming up the valley from the coast would snap you out of any thoughts that threatened to consume you throughout the night. It would remind you of what you were doing there, standing on that roof all by yourself. 

A sudden surge of wind races up and into your face, expertly stealing your breath as the snug crown that encircled your head threatened to take flight. 

It startled you, you were quick to clamp Arthur's hat down over your head before it could get away from you. The small gesture was enough to speed your heart up. And with it, the urge to get moving was weighing on you. 

You couldn't leave, as much as you wanted to go running off to instill a feeling of control in your life, you had to keep in mind the responsibilities you now held.

Actively your mind began to switch things around on you. Some eerie calmness blanketing it, it started twisting into what you thought was something of an upwards spiral. A new breath of air, and perspective.

This was your all-time low, you expected one or two of your treasured gifts to be taken from you. It kept your heart steely and at the ready. But to have most if not all of them snatched in one fell swoop. It was incomprehensible. 

All of this, you could only explain as the result of the one person you were gunning for from the beginning. No, you weren't just blinded by rage or agony. This all had to have stemmed from one act. One lousy good for nothing stain on the world. That weasel, the traitorous coward. 

You knew him only by the quivering in his voice as he admitted he stood for nothing in regards to his own thoughts and desires. He followed blindly to a man who thought of him as nothing more than a sheep in his vast plans. Just as you had once been. 

He must have lived, after admitting his deceiving ways to the brother he swore his loyalty to; all the while with his other arm guarded with a knife, waiting till Colm gave him the go-ahead to slaughter his companion of more than a thousand trips.

That raven head must have reported back to Colm, relaying the news of an interested fourth party. Your anger was not wasted on someone as small as that feeble coward though. No, you had your eyes on something much bigger, more significant than Colm possibly. 

What threat did you pose to Colm? No, it wasn't you that posed a threat, it was the companion you had alongside you that brisk evening. Dutch and his gang are one of the few things that made Colm’s ass pucker up and spur him into making a move. 

All it would have taken was one subtle hint, the slightest flick of the tongue to tip off Diana. 

Diana had her tendrils nestled so deeply alongside the roots of St. Denis. The rich and Powerful, of those who funded such a bustling concrete jungle. St. Denis had its own share of dangers. And if she had taught you anything before her timely departure in your life, it was what you might have lost sight of months ago. 

Manipulating people, using them as pawns, and exchanging nothing for power in some backhanded practice that required too much tongue and not enough action.

Then the thought drifted into your mind, something without reason or facts, it only existed. 

Just after the hell you raise at the Rhodes Saloon, three days had passed, that was enough time to gather the people who weren't above kidnapping an innocent child. Someone was tipped off, someone with power and resources, someone in St. Denis.

Diana had to have planted that seed, she knew enough that you were with Dutch’s gang, having heard the word of being alongside someone who looked like a right-hand man for the ancient Predator. 

But Arthur’s mask was over his face, how could someone have made such an accurate assumption? Unless it was your questions that tipped them off. Who else would have sniffed out those two idiots in some distant town to ask about an Ally? Colm was a well-known man, a very hated enemy as well, surely he had countless of enemies himself, how would Diana have pinned you to be involved?

Your anger was blinding you again, likely you could only grasp for straws in your viciously scrambled mindset, you wanted answers, you wanted justice for those you failed. 

But having opened such an interesting train of thought, dissecting it like a corpse and you were days out from your last meal. Your hunger only seemed to burn the more you ingested the possibilities. Swallowing without chewing each piece, you were swimming in dangerous waters, but what else was there for you to do as you stood above those aching souls that sat burned as a result of your actions at your feet.

Were you in it for Revenge? Justice? Or was it Redemption?

Throughout your lifetime you had learned a thing or two about building fire, now it was time to play with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! Good lord. Took me much longer than I would have liked. I'm not entirely sure if I finished it like I was supposed to have. After Detangling it from Chapter 18, everything is sorta, just, a mess.   
> BUT I was wondering about what you thought on an idea I had been having.  
> What if I wrote a -Choices Matter Story.- It would take A LOT of planning, and keeping track of strands and creative ways. It would provide a whole new level of Creative depth and reader emersion. I'd have to post chapters at the same time to signify the multiple choices. I don't imagine I'd like to press myself and try and do more than two options at a time, maybe work my way up and see how it goes before I start branching off into...more branches.   
> BUT that's just something to think about.   
> Maybe once I finish this, and...my whole mountain of other creative tasks, I'll find some space to weave it into some multitasking?   
> Anyway.   
> Thank you for taking the time to read! I can't wait to hear what you think about it, we are approaching the last few breaths of this story, I'm nervous, and I'm not sure I want it to end.


End file.
